Psychosis
by 29Pieces
Summary: Psychosis: noun. A condition in which contact is lost with external reality. When Dean is blinded and kidnapped after a case goes wrong, Sam will stop at nothing to get him back. But there are some things more sinister than monsters in the world. Case fic set in an AU version of S6. Whump.
1. Chapter 1

_A/N: Hello again, everybody! It's been a hot minute since I had a chapter fic for you here, but at last I've [mostly] finished another one ^_^_

 _This is an AU set in season 6, because there was so much that needed fixing in that season. So some major differences: Sam has his soul, Cas is not working with Crowley but is still fighting Raphael, Sam and Dean are still in contact with him and are actually interested in what he's up against and how he's doing, and there's no Campbells._

 _I don't own any of the canon characters. Thanks so much to Aini NuFire for beta reading and pushing me to finish! ^_^ Also, I'll post every Tuesday._

 _No warnings for this other than some whump. Also two timelines going here, one to see what's currently happening and one to go back and see how they got into this mess, a little at a time ;) And we begin right smack in the action... So here we go!_

* * *

:::NOW:::

"Dean, _please_ ," Sam exclaimed with a disheartened sigh. "I know this sucks. I don't like it either, believe me, but until we can fix this-"

"No!" Dean shouted, thrashing wildly with both hands cuffed together to fend him off. "Get away from me!"

Sam sighed again, casting a guilty look at the syringe he held. The Impala wasn't exactly roomy, which made it hard to maneuver close enough to his brother to get the sedative injected. It was bad enough he'd had to cuff Dean's hands to keep him from attacking, bad enough that the older Winchester had every right to be freaking out; Sam didn't want to hold his brother down and stab a needle in his neck on top of everything else.

"Dean, listen to me," he urged. "You've got to calm down, okay? Come on, bro, just-"

"You're not my brother!" Dean cut him off with venom in his voice. He lurched blindly for the passenger door, trying to unlock it and get out.

The door refused to open; Sam had already been forced to turn the safety locks on after Dean had tried to jump out while they were driving 60 miles an hour.

The vicious proclamation cut through to Sam's heart, making him swallow back the pain and remind himself once again that this wasn't his brother's fault.

"Dean-"

"Don't talk to me! Let me out of here, _now_!"

Dean whirled back towards Sam with a glare. Just looking at his eyes hurt almost worse than listening to his hate-filled voice. Dean's normally green irises were blood-shot and red-rimmed, sclera already starting to form a milky film, while the skin surrounding them was mottled and scarred. Though his fury—and fear—was pointed in Sam's direction, the gaze was sightless.

Rage mounted in Sam's heart that his brother had been hurt this way, but even worse that Dean was barely letting him close enough to try to help.

"Listen," he tried again, keeping calm. "I told you… you were cursed. The demon who blinded you… the one who _kidnapped_ you and god knows what else, they used some kind of curse, remember? To make you forget about me, to keep us disjointed so we couldn't-"

"You're delusional!" Dean bellowed. It was clear his panic was mounting again, being handcuffed _and_ unable to see, stuck in the car with an apparent stranger.

"I'm your _brother_ ," Sam sighed, starting to despair. It wasn't Dean's fault… it wasn't Dean's fault… Dean wasn't trying to be cruel, he just genuinely didn't know better at the moment.

"No, you're not! Let me go!"

He jerked at the bracelets around his wrists, straining with so much desperation that it made Sam ache. As soon as they found somewhere to rest, he would have to find something to cushion the restraints with, or else Dean would end up hurting himself; Sam didn't want to add that onto his list of things to feel terrible about. Bad enough he hadn't gotten to his brother in time to save him from all of this to begin with.

"Look, I _had_ to cuff you," Sam couldn't help but apologize again. "You nearly ran us off the road trying to fight me. I'm sorry, and I really don't want to give you the sedative, but until we can find somewhere to lie low, I'm going to have to, okay? You're a danger to us both right now."

"I said get away from me!" Dean yelled, now trying to shift as far from Sam as he could.

Something about watching his brother shrink back from him, cowering into the door frame, almost broke Sam. He watched as Dean's ruined eyes flicked all around, obviously trying to keep himself oriented without being able to see. Sam held up the syringe, already loathing himself for needing to do this, but it would be kinder. Not to mention safer. Even blind, even restrained, Dean wasn't known as one of the best hunters around for nothing, and if he kept trying to attack Sam while they were driving, it could end up getting them both killed.

"If there was any other way, I'd do it," he murmured, lashing out to grab the links of the cuffs, pulling Dean closer and looping his arm through the chain to keep him in place. "This is just going to help you sleep, alright? That's all, I swear."

"No, don't! Please…"

"I'm sorry," Sam whispered, pushing the needle into Dean's neck and depressing the plunger. The sedative injected, he pulled away and released his hold on the cuffs to give his brother some space.

"No-" Dean choked out, pressing a hand to his neck where Sam had stuck him. "No…"

"You're going to be okay, Dean," Sam assured him, watching sorrowfully as Dean again groped for the door handle and tugged it fruitlessly. "I promise. I'm gonna fix this."

"Don't you… fudging… touch me…"

With one last, quiet groan, Dean tipped over against the back of the seat, eyelids fluttering closed.

Sam bit his lip with regret. He reached out to check his brother's pulse, making sure the dose hadn't been too much; it was strong and steady, to his relief. Recapping the needle and sliding it safely into the cup holder, Sam sat back in the driver's seat and released a slow exhale.

They'd been down before, but this really took the cake. Worse, despite Sam's assurances, he had absolutely no idea how he was going to help his brother. If he hadn't killed the demon who'd taken Dean to begin with, perhaps he could have forced it to lift the curse, but he hadn't realized at the time just how much damage had been done.

Sam thought back to when Zachariah had made them forget they were brothers, turning them into civilians. That time, even though he and Dean "hadn't known each other", they'd still felt their bond, their connection, pulling them together. They'd still been okay.

Clearly, that wasn't happening here.

He could have even handled Dean simply not remembering him, but this was worse; Dean was _scared_ of him. And Sam knew he was making it worse by restraining his brother, and now knocking him out with the sedative, but he didn't know what else to do.

They couldn't sit here forever, though. Sam's gaze flicked out the windshield, greeted by nothing but rolling hills and dirt of the California desert. Where was he supposed to go? How was he supposed to begin fixing what had been done to Dean? Bobby was unreachable, on some case in another country.

And Cas…

Sam closed his eyes, feeling the weight of hopelessness settling like a lead blanket. Not bad enough that the demon had managed to turn _Dean_ against him.

It had turned Cas, as well.

Sam had gotten so used to the idea that Cas, while not invincible, was far too strong for a demon's curse to affect. If only he hadn't gotten their angel involved… At least then Sam would have a friend to call on now, instead of a supercharged angel who could and _would_ kill Sam without blinking an eye, and probably Dean, too.

Thank goodness the warding should protect them from being found. Once Sam figured out how to fix Dean, he could use it to help Cas, as well. Until then… Sam was completely alone, with a brother and a best friend who thought he was an enemy.

After everything they had lost, after all they'd been through together, the thought of losing them now… Sam swallowed a lump in his throat. He couldn't afford to despair. None of them could, which meant he had to pull himself together. Sam turned back to look at Dean, still slumped against the seat, and shook his head.

"We'll figure this out," he murmured, though the reassurance was more for his own mind than his comatose brother. Sam reached out to clutch Dean's shoulder. He frowned, seeing a tear tracking down his brother's face where his eyes were trying to keep themselves moisturized. Gingerly, Sam dabbed it away with his sleeve. "Don't worry. I'm gonna get us off the grid, and I'm gonna take care of you."

:::THEN:::

Dean glowered out the window and drummed his fingers on the steering wheel. The rain pattered unceasingly against the glass—why had he even bothered washing Baby? Honestly, it never failed—and the cloudy landscape hovered before them with depressing unendingness.

"You'd think just once we could come to California and actually get some sun," he grumbled.

"Mm."

Dean glanced over at Sam. His brother's brow was creased in concentration, shuffling through crime scene photos and evidence reports from the file folder they'd put together.

"Good talk." Rolling his eyes, he turned his gaze out the windshield again.

"I'm listening. Sun. California. We've been here with good weather before, Dean."

"Yeah, but never just to chill, you know? Man, friggin' demons."

Sam tucked the papers back into the file and shifted in his seat, stretching out as much as the freakishly long-legged guy could. They'd been driving for almost eight hours now with only a couple of stops for gas. Both of them were getting short-tempered.

"We don't know that it _is_ a demon for sure," Sam reminded him yet again, like Dean hadn't gotten the point after the fourth or fifth time.

"Right, right." Dean nodded, pretending to agree, then snorted. "It could be a human, no, you're right. Who just happens to know about, uh, what did they write on the wall at the last one? The rising of the witnesses?"

Sam sighed, but Dean pressed,

"Or, what about the murder before that? Something about Samhain coming to slaughter us all? Coincidence. Definitely. Tell me this doesn't have demon all over it."

"I'm not saying it's _not_ a demon," Sam shot back testily. "I'm just saying we don't know for sure. We don't know how much lore is out there about-"

"About the 66 Seals, specifically the ones we saw, and _lost_ , I might add? You know, those Seals specifically, out of six _hundred_ they could have picked instead? The ones that released Lucifer until we could shove his ass back in the Cage?"

"Yeah, I get it!"

"Good!"

"God, Dean." Sam turned out the window again, sagging slightly in the passenger seat.

Dean felt a twinge of remorse; of all people, Sammy didn't need the reminder about releasing Lucifer. It was just the damn weather and the lack of sleep between cases putting Dean in a bad mood. Besides, starting arguments when they still had a couple hours stuck in the car together was just dumb. Relenting, he sighed.

"I'm just saying, we should go in prepared for demon," he grumbled. "And if it's something else, then hey, easier for us to gank their ass and get out. First round on me."

Sam was quiet for another second, but at least he didn't seem to be stewing. Clutching the folder, he took in a deep breath, then murmured, "What if… what if you're right and it _is_ a demon, though. Dean, think about it. Those Rings we opened the Cage with, they might be gone, but there's nothing saying a demon can't break 66 _more_ Seals, right? What if it's one of Lucifer's, trying to start over like Yellow Eyes did?"

"Then we'll stop him," Dean insisted. He glanced at Sam and shook his head. "It's not gonna happen, Sammy. Lucifer's in his Cage, and he's gonna stay there. Besides, the first Seal was supposed to be broken by the Righteous Man, and as far as I know, that's still me. Don't know about you, but I've been too busy chopping vamp heads to be doing much Seal-breaking. And, and Lilith is dead, huh? And she had to be the final Seal, so…"

With a shrug, Sam pointed out, "What if you're not the only righteous man who's ended up in Hell? You're the toughest guy I know, so if they broke _you_ , they can break someone else. And as for Lilith…" He snorted. "Because no one in our lives has _ever_ come back from the dead before."

"Well, aren't you a little raincloud."

"Maybe we should call Cas after all. You know, maybe he could tell us if it's even possible to use the Seals to bring Lucifer back."

Dean rubbed a hand along his jaw. Yeah, he'd already thought about calling on the angel. But… "Let's just wait until we know for sure there's something here," he suggested. "You know, when we saw him last week, he seemed to have his hands full with the Raphael thing."

"Yeah, you're right," Sam agreed, turning back to Dean at last. "I don't wanna bother him over some wannabe that we can take out ourselves. Man, how do you think it's going up there? I wish he'd let us help. I keep telling him…"

"So do I, but he's got a point. Not a lot we can do from here, and apparently going into Heaven would kill us, so that's out. Best we can offer is moral support and be ready to jump in if something does come up."

"At least we got him checking in more regularly. I hate it when he just disappears." Sam shook his head, then heaved a sigh. "I still haven't _really_ gotten to thank him for getting me out of Hell."

Dean grinned, flashing a mischievous look Sam's direction as he suggested, "Well, when this all calms down, you can take him to a strip club. He seemed to really love that…"

"I cannot believe you took an _angel_ to a _strip club._ "

"I can't believe he struck out with a stripper!"

They laughed, the mood in the Impala starting to ease a little. Dean nodded towards the file folder in his brother's hands.

"Tell me about 'em again," he suggested. "Maybe we missed something the first time through."

Opening the file once again, Sam pulled out the reports and cleared his throat. "Right, uh… okay, so we have three murders, all bloody, vics stabbed over a dozen times. Tons of occult symbols, throats slit, the whole nine. But no eyes burned out, so it probably wasn't an angel. Messages written on the walls at all three crime scenes, in blood. Cops chalked it up as garden variety Satanists, but…"

"But all three referenced different Seals," Dean finished for him. "Alright. We'll hit up the precinct first, shake down the local badges and see if they have any leads, and go from there." He tried to grin at Sam again, though it fell a little flat. "It's gonna be fine, Sammy. Seriously."

The remaining two hours passed relatively quickly; even still, by the time they passed the sign designating Loyola, California's city limits, Dean was ready for a burger, a shower, and a nap. In that order. But duty called.

Dressed in their FBI threads, the two headed for the sheriff's office, only to be pointed back out in the direction of the fourth and latest crime scene; the body count was climbing, and they were dropping faster.

The grey sky was a dusky backdrop for the flashing blue and red that still lit the area. Yellow tape cordoned off the alley as various officers and investigators moved in and out with grim efficiency.

"Hi, 'scuse me," Dean said, stepping up to the tape and flashing his badge at the nearest officer. "Agent Grayson, this is Agent Todd-"

"Oh, thank god," the man grumbled as he straightened. "FBI, right?"

Dean shot a look at Sam, slipping the badge back away. He hoped that didn't mean the real FBI was expected… with Bobby off on a case somewhere in Bermuda or wherever, there was no one to work the phones for them if they had to play the "we were sent here first" card.

"Right," Sam replied smoothly. "Who's your lead in this?"

"Sheriff Keene. Towards the back." He turned and yelled, "Oy, Sheriff!"

A red-haired woman straightened up, frowning in their direction. The frown deepened as Dean ducked under the caution tape, leading the way to the sheriff. He held out a hand.

"Sheriff Keene? Agent Grayson," he greeted her. "My partner, Agent Todd."

"Agents," she replied, accepting the hand. "I don't remember calling you. No offense."

"None taken," Sam assured her. "Really just dumb luck that our boss caught wind of this at all. We had a federal investigation a couple years ago that went cold on us, but the MO fits. We're hoping if we can help you get this guy, we'll close both our cases."

"Uh-huh," the sheriff said simply, looking between the two. "Well, if this is the same MO, maybe you can tell me what the hell is going on. So far, we've got four vics with nothing in common, four crime scenes on complete opposite ends of the county. The only similarities are the causes of death and the… er… _artwork_."

"Yeah, that's all we ever had," Dean agreed, building up the story. "That's why it went cold. Couldn't find any links."

Sheriff Keene looked between the two again, then shrugged. "Well, feel free to poke around. God knows I won't turn down the extra set of eyes, not with four murders and no leads. I have to get back to the station, but I'll have Deputy Bryson show you around." She gestured towards the one who'd first greeted them, still standing at the front of the alley, and started to head that way.

Sam and Dean hurried after her, drawing to a stop as she muttered some instructions to the deputy and then continued on past the tape and disappeared into the crowd.

"Yes, ma'am. No, come on!" the deputy complained to some nearby gawkers as a couple of them craned their necks to try getting a glimpse of the scene. "Keep moving, let's go. Vultures," he added under his breath. "Sorry, agents, Sheriff said to give you whatever you needed."

"For now, we're just gonna take a look around," Dean assured him. "We'll want to check out the first three crime scenes as well."

"Sure," he replied. "They've been cleaned up, though."

"And of course, if anything else happens, you'll give us a call?" Sam pressed. "Here's our contact information." He held the card out to the deputy, who gave it a quick scan before sticking it in his pocket.

"Sure thing, agents," he agreed. "Oy! You there, I mean it, back up!" The deputy scowled at a man who'd brushed up too close to the caution tape in an effort to see what was going on. "I swear, these people. Look, you two can poke around wherever you need to. As soon as something comes up, I'll call you."

Dean gave him a nod, then gestured to Sam to follow him back away from the spectators. "What do you think?" he muttered.

Sam gave the alley another cursory look, gaze finally zeroing in on the wall where a team was still photographing the message that had been daubed on in blood: " _And he bloodied death under the newborn sky."_

Another Seal… killing the reapers.

Sam swallowed. "I think this feels personal."

"So… demon," Dean couldn't help but say with a snarky 'I told you so' look. He didn't get an answer beyond the tightening of Sam's jaw. Not that Dean was all that thrilled to be right; a demon leftover from Lucifer's fan club could only be bad news.

Surveying the scene again, Dean nodded. "Alright," he sighed. "We've got work to do."


	2. Chapter 2

_A/N: Thank you SO MUCH for the reviews, guys! :D It really makes my day ^_^_

 _Once again, we start in the current action and then take a step (or two) back for another piece of the puzzle for how exactly they got in this situation to begin with._

* * *

:::NOW:::

The scrubby trees and sparse grasslands surrounded the Impala on all sides as Sam continued to point her nose up the road, higher into the California hills and hopefully farther from anything that might be in pursuit. They'd passed hardly any other cars, which was a good sign that they were far enough away from the populated city below.

Dean was still out like a light, buckled safely into the passenger seat. Sam cast another worried look in his brother's direction. Soon he would have to stop; they couldn't stay on the run indefinitely. Surely Cas wouldn't be able to track them, and Sam had already destroyed both of their phones… it wasn't like he had anyone he could really call for help with this, anyway.

Meanwhile, he couldn't and _wouldn't_ continue sedating Dean like this. Eventually, it could start causing damage, which meant Sam needed to figure out another arrangement before the dose wore off.

The line of evergreens on the left cleared out, revealing a flatter plateau with a row of homes lining a long street. Not knowing what else to do, Sam slowed down and turned onto the road, eyeing each rather derelict house as they passed. Most had cars in the drives, but at least there was a tall privacy fence between each residence. The hunter frowned as he got further and further down the lane until finally he reached the turn-around at the end. The last house's driveway stood empty and dark. In the yard, barely visible among the overgrown weeds, a hand-written sign stated the place was for sale by owner.

"Finally," Sam muttered, easing the Impala into the driveway. It appeared to have gone undisturbed for quite a while, which would hopefully buy them some time to figure out their next move.

Sam parked the car and got out, glancing furtively around. No one was watching. He hurried to the front door and jiggled the knob, which turned without resistance to allow him into the house. Praying that Dean would remain unconscious for just a few more minutes, Sam did a quick, wary sweep of the residence.

Judging from the layer of dust and the sparse furniture, Sam could safely assume no one would bother them here. They had squatted in places far riskier of discovery, at any rate. The fridge and cupboard had been cleaned out, but he could make a supply run as soon as he got Dean settled.

And speaking of his brother… Sam gnawed on his lip as he slipped from one room to another, eyes casting in all directions. He drew to a stop in a mostly vacant spare room, regretfully regarding a large, wire dog pen that sat bolted against the far wall.

Clearly it was designed to crate large pets, but it was clean and roomy, and it wasn't like there were a ton of other options. Though Sam knew Dean would be pissed, at least he could remove the handcuffs. Better than keeping his brother tied up while he was still a danger to himself and everyone around him.

Hurrying back outside, Sam opened the passenger side door and carefully unbuckled Dean. It was a bit of a struggle to heave him up, because good god, the dead weight was heavy, but Sam managed to make his careful way with his brother through the front door and towards the spare room. He situated Dean gingerly in the sturdy pen before removing the handcuffs.

Shit. Sam winced as he noticed the slight bruising around Dean's wrists from his struggle—his struggle to get away from _Sam_. The sooner they broke this damn curse, the better. Sam ran his fingertips around Dean's wrists in search of lacerations, but there didn't seem to be any. Nor did he see any other marks or wounds from the demon that might need attention, as Sam cupped Dean's face in his hands and tilted it with a light frown. Just that horrible mottling of skin around his eyes, evidence of his new blindness. It burned him again, that anyone would hurt his brother so horribly, leaving the tough hunter so helpless.

But they would figure this out. Just like they always did.

Exhaling, glad to have the first step crossed off his list, Sam pulled the kennel's door closed and attached a heavy padlock from his bag.

Just in time, too, as the older hunter started to shift and groan. Sam held his breath as he remained squatted in front of the cage, watching his brother warily.

Dean lifted a hand to rub his head and tensed as he felt the scars around his eyes. He swallowed, then groped blindly at the air around him as though in search of anything to orient himself. His fingers brushed the firm wire of the pen.

"Shit," Dean whispered, jolting up to a seated position and knocking his head against the top of the kennel, just shy of being tall enough to let him straighten. He hunched and stretched out with both hands to feel for the dimensions of the cage. "No, no…"

"Dean," Sam murmured, aching as his brother gasped and whirled towards the sound of his voice. He watched Dean scramble back from him with one hand held up, as though expecting an attack. Sam's heart broke a little more.

"Stay away from me," Dean growled. "What did you do to me? Let me out of here!"

"You know I can't. I'm sorry about this, but I didn't want to keep the handcuffs on, so until I can fix this-"

"Where am I? What-" His hands made another blind pass around the pen. "What is this?"

Sam shifted his weight and reminded himself that this was the only viable option, and that Dean would do the same thing in his position. _Had_ done the same, even. "Dog pen," he muttered. "Sorry."

"Dog- Let me out! Let me out now!" Dean surged forward, clutching the wire kennel with white knuckles and jerking like it would break. "You son of a bitch, I'll kill you! I will _kill_ you, you hear me?"

Closing his eyes, Sam shook his head. It was just the curse talking. "We needed somewhere to hide," he insisted. "You're hurt. As soon as I can fix you-"

"You- you touch me, and I swear to _god_ -"

"Dean! I'm not gonna hurt you. I promise. I'm sorry about the cage, but it's just until I can figure this out. Come on, you're the one who strapped me to a cot down in Bobby's panic room. Remember that?" Would the curse have made him forget _everyone_ in his life, Bobby included, or was it just Sam? "Do you remember that, Dean? No, I didn't like it, but you did what you had to. Now I have to do this, and it sucks, but it's going to be okay. How much _do_ you remember?"

It was difficult to say whether Dean was following or not, his sightless glare not wavering as the hunter merely snarled again,

"I'm going to kill you."

Well… at least he was justifying the need to be locked up until the curse was lifted. None of this was his fault, but it didn't make it any easier to hear the death threats, which Sam knew Dean was capable of following through on.

Leaning back with a sigh, Sam nodded. "I'm gonna fix you," he promised again softly. Grabbing his bag, Sam dug through it for the candy bars he'd picked up at a gas station on their way out of town. "You've gotta be starving by now. I've got some-"

"I don't want anything from _you_."

So much for that. Sam nevertheless slipped the chocolate through the wires of the pen for when Dean did decide he would rather eat than be stubborn—which could take a while, knowing his brother.

"I need to get some supplies," he explained. They couldn't live on candy bars forever. "Before I go, do you… need the bathroom or anything? I can-"

"No! Let me out of here!"

Sam shrugged and climbed to his feet. "I'll be back. I promise. Just… try and remember, Dean. It's me, Sam, it's your brother. We hunt monsters together, and-"

He cut off as Dean slammed his body against the pen wall, but while the wire links rattled, they didn't give an inch.

"We're not brothers!" Dean shouted. "I'll kill you, you son of a bitch! You hear me? I'll kill you!"

Sam shook his head and turned, heart heavy as Dean's curses followed him from the room, cut off by the closing of the door.

:::THEN:::

"This is the place, right?" Dean slammed the Impala door shut, taking a look around the vacant lot and frowning. "Deputy Bryson said on the phone there was a fresh murder at the old Purliance canning factory. That's this, isn't it?"

"That's what the map said. Oh wait, there's his car," Sam pointed out, nodding to a county sheriff's vehicle half hidden behind a rusting dumpster. "Good, at least we'll be able to do a more thorough search without all the other investigators disrupting everything. That's five murders, three of them in three days now… he's speeding up."

He flicked some hair out of his face, as Dean turned to scrutinize him. Though Sam's expression showed nothing but focus, Dean could read the rigidity in his brother's posture.

"Sam. We'll get him."

Sam nodded tightly. "We have to," he murmured. "The deputy said…"

"I know, 'the first demon will be the last Seal'. Just because someone's put that bull up on a wall doesn't mean any Seals were actually broken. No one's bringing Lucifer back. And hey, the angels would've felt it if anything was happening to the Cage, right? Cas would have said something. It's just a demon trying to screw with us."

"Well, it's working."

Dean couldn't argue with that. But if the demon was referencing the final Seal, maybe that meant this would be the last murder. Which was good, of course, but it also put more pressure on them to find and gank this bastard before it could slip back into hiding. Something about this whole thing just seemed weird to him, like there was much more to it than they were getting.

"Deputy Bryson?" Sam shouted as he pushed open the cannery door. "Deputy!"

There was no response. A light breeze fluttered past, a few dead leaves skittering through, but no sign of the law officer _or_ a crime scene.

"Where _is_ he?" Sam asked. "Hey, Deputy!"

Dean's gut was starting to clench, churning out what could only be a warning. He shook his head again and drew his gun. "Sam, something's just… I don't like this."

"You think it's still here? You think it _is_ the deputy?"

"I don't know _what_ to think." Dean pulled out his canteen full of holy water and twisted the cap off. "Split up. If you see anything, give a shout."

Sam nodded and turned off the other direction. His footsteps echoed slightly in the open building, between light _plips_ from dripping water. The air was stagnant, but too widely dispersed for Dean to accurately detect any scent of sulfur.

One thing was sure, though: no way was he letting any stinking demon open up Lucifer's box again. Tightening his grip on both gun and holy water, Dean continued on his way. A double door led down a long hallway before opening up into another section of factory. In the center of the dirty floor, a body lay sprawled and unmoving. A body with a deputy's uniform…

Cursing, Dean hurried forward and knelt by the deputy, setting the canteen down to check for a pulse. His hand came away wet with blood; the deputy's throat had been slit.

"Damn it," Dean growled. He looked around, seeing the blood message left on the nearest wall. So the deputy wasn't their demon. Dean's skin prickled. A muffled sound from a shadowed corner had Dean whipping around, finger already on the trigger. He paused as he registered a man seated in a chair, hands pulled behind him. A strip of duct tape covered his mouth. The man whimpered slightly, terrified eyes watching Dean with a sense of pleading.

"Hang on," Dean exclaimed, stowing his gun and hurrying towards the bound man. "Did you see who did this?" He tore the tape off the guy's mouth, noting that other than being scared out of his mind, he seemed okay.

"Oh my god, oh god, thank you!" the man half-sobbed as Dean pulled out his lock pick to work on the cuffs holding the prisoner's wrists. "I know it sounds crazy, but it- it was some kind of monster!"

"Let me guess, black eyes?" Dean asked, jimmying the handcuffs loose. "Stank like bad eggs?"

"How… how did you know…?"

The cuffs came free at last, and the man jumped from the chair, rubbing his wrists.

Dean shrugged. "Long story," he replied. "Is it still here?"

"No, I… I think it left. But the cop…"

Yeah, and that was weird. Dean looked back at the murdered deputy and shook his head. "Why start taking prisoners now?" he muttered. Maybe if this really was the last murder in some sort of Lucifer-raising recreation, this guy had been meant to be a sacrifice of some kind.

But…

"Where's the dead guy?" Dean asked out loud, turning another circle in search of a body he might have missed.

The man stopped rubbing his wrists, staring at Dean incredulously and gesturing to the obviously deceased deputy.

Dean rolled his eyes. "Yeah, I know, but… Bryson called us to say there'd been another murder. But you're not dead, so who was he talking about?" This wasn't adding up. The back of Dean's neck started to prickle; something was _definitely_ fishy about all of this. His gaze narrowed on the guy he'd rescued. "If it even _was_ the deputy on the phone."

The man dropped his arms, fearful façade falling away. "I always knew you didn't get enough credit for being clever."

"Sam-!" Dean started to shout, but the man he'd rescued raised a hand and uttered a word Dean didn't recognize. Something hit him in the face, an invisible force that sent him reeling. But it didn't stop there; he heard, more than felt, the sizzling of skin like acid bubbling away.

And then the pain hit. Dean yelled in agony, raising his hands to try to rub at his face. His fingers brushed raised skin, surrounding his eyes like burn scars. Dean cried out again, the acuity of the pain driving him back as he ducked his head and curled in on himself. Oh god, his face was on fire!

"Sam!" he choked out again, voice garbled with panic. Dean blinked and tried to wipe at his eyes, but there was nothing there. And the more he blinked, the more the cloudy haze darkened. " _Sammy_!"

Dean's hand shot towards his gun, but something slammed into him before he could reach it. A fierce grip latched onto his wrist and torqued it back and around, pulling Dean against the "victim's" solid body. The gun he'd been reaching for was jerked out of his waistband and pressed to his own head. Dean froze, tears streaming down his face as his eyes tried to flush whatever this was free. It did no good.

The hand wrenching his arm behind his back squeezed harder. "Not much longer now," the demon whispered in Dean's ear, sending an icy ripple racing down his back.

Footsteps echoed, pounding down the hall as Dean tilted his head in the direction of the sound. The dark haze had collapsed completely into blackness, leaving him with a blindness so complete and paralyzing, he almost couldn't breathe.

"Dean!" he heard from somewhere in front of him, followed by a horrified expletive.

"Sammy, I can't see!" Dean wriggled in his captor's grip, but the hold was unrelenting and the muzzle of the gun pressed harder into his head.

"Sam. Hello," the demon said, outwardly sounding calm but with a flutter of excitement that terrified Dean all the more. "I'm sorry about this. I really am."

"Let him go," Sam snarled; the sound of a cocking gun echoed in the wide open space. "What the hell did you do to him?"

"Put your gun down, Sam. Drop it slowly. You can see that I've got the upper hand here. You would never do anything to endanger Dean. You would give your life to save him. You would even jump into _Hell_ if you knew it was the only way to protect your brother, to protect the world-"

"Then you know if you try to walk out of here with him, I _will_ kill you," Sam interrupted fiercely.

The demon took a step back, dragging Dean with him. "Oh, Sam," it sighed. "After all this time… I wish this wasn't how it had to be."

"Yeah, well then here's an idea," Dean snapped. "Put _your_ gun down, and we'll all just walk out of here." Or, more accurately, the son of a bitch could drop his gun so that Dean could pull free enough for Sam to blast him with a devil's trap bullet.

"We'll go soon, Dean, don't-"

"Wait a second…" Sam's tone had changed, shifting from furious to wary. "…I've seen you before."

The demon fell still, though the gun remained pressed against Dean's temple.

"Yeah," Sam went on. "You… you were at the crime scene last night. The deputy had to tell you to step back. So, I'm guessing you grabbed him and brought him here to kill, then called us pretending to be the deputy, to lure us out here. Right?"

"Last night, that's… all you know me from?"

For some reason, there was a smoldering emotion underscoring the question. Dean shifted, biting his tongue in an attempt to hold back any more sounds of pain, but his eyes still felt like they were burning, and he didn't want to know what his face looked like. It was like Hellfire all over again, a thought which left him chilled.

Sam was quiet for a moment, before murmuring, "No. You're… familiar."

"Familiar?" the demon repeated, clutching Dean's wrist so hard that the hunter inhaled sharply with pain. "That's it? You honestly never noticed me at all?"

"Look," Sam growled. "Just let go of Dean, and we can-"

"I can't do that. After everything it took to get you here, Sam…"

"And here I am. So come on," Sam prodded. "What's the master plan? Why are you doing this?"

There was a soft laugh from the demon, which again sent a shudder wracking down Dean's spine. He thought about trying to yank away while his captor was distracted, maybe try to give Sam a clean shot. But without being able to see, he couldn't communicate with Sam, couldn't signal what he was about to do. He didn't even know if Sam still had the gun in position, or if he'd lowered it because of the threat to Dean.

"This is where I'm supposed to reveal everything?" the stranger asked, sounding almost excited and knowing, rather than impatient. "No, I don't believe I'll get into all that. I'm sorry, Sam, but this is where we part ways. I really can't even tell you what a treat this has been, honestly a dream come true. I have to thank you. For everything. Especially for your brother."

"What do you _want_?" Sam demanded in frustration.

"Your life."

The gun moved from Dean's head so suddenly that he barely had time to register its disappearance before the shot cracked out across the cannery floor. Dean couldn't see, but he heard the shocked gasp, quiet as it was, and then the clatter and the thud.

" _Sammy_!" he bellowed, throwing himself forward but unable to leverage his way free. "Sam! Sammy!"

The choked, rasping gurgle he heard next etched itself into his brain, seared into his eardrums. No, _no_! Not like this…

"Sorry, Sammy," his captor said. "It had to be done."

And then Dean was being dragged back, away from his brother. Tears continued to drip, but no longer just because of his ravaged eyes. "Sam!" he cried out, propelled blindly backwards.

There was no reply. Nothing but a weak, wet cough, and the echo of his own scream:

" _Sam_!"


	3. Chapter 3

_A/N: Thank you for your review, guest! :D This is definitely hard on all of my boys. I'm really happy you're enjoying this so much though!_

 _This chapter, we start in the past timeline. Couldn't leave Sam in his condition! For those wondering when Cas would show up... :)_

* * *

:::THEN:::

At first, Castiel wasn't even sure he'd heard a prayer at all.

For one thing, there were many distractions in Heaven, in the hidden stronghold that he and his faction had situated themselves in. The battle against Raphael raged on, yet the fighting itself had hit a lull, the archangel's warriors seeming wary of engaging Castiel's. Probably Raphael was strategizing something bigger, but until Castiel's informants returned with some idea of what was happening, his only option was to be patient.

More than ever, Castiel wanted this war to end. Sam and Dean had urged him multiple times to let them help in some way, citing their nickname of _Team_ Free Will, reminding him they were in this together. But while it warmed Castiel's heart and gave him strength to continue the fight, he was loathe to get them involved when there was little they could do from outside Heaven's borders.

He missed his friends, though. Often, his thoughts dwelled on Sam and Dean, which was why at first he thought perhaps the whisper of Sam's voice was just his own mind conjuring up a memory.

 _"Cas… Castiel…"_ his name drifted through the targeted prayer channel. _"H-help… Please… help me… shot…"_

No, it was really Sam. But his voice was so weak in Castiel's mind, the angel realized with alarm. Like he was fading…

 _"Demon t-took… Dean."_

 _What?_ Castiel spun, jaw tightening as he prepared to take flight only to be stopped by Balthazar's baffled face.

"Castiel?" his brother asked. "What is it? Is Raphael-"

"I have to go," Castiel cut him off. He sighed inwardly when the other angels paused, knowing they wouldn't like this.

"Now?" Balthazar demanded. "But-"

"You're in charge until I return, Balthazar," Castiel again overrode him, loudly enough for the others to hear, so there would be no question of authority. "I'll be back."

He took off with a flurry of feathers, powerful wings beating hard as the angel raced towards the earth. Castiel frowned, trying to home in on Sam's prayer. The human was warded, which meant without knowing where exactly he was, the best Castiel could do was follow the silent plea, the feeling of desperation. His heart thudded in his chest. If Dean was in a demon's clutches, if Sam was dying…

Castiel flew faster.

 _"Loyola,"_ Sam's weakening prayer whispered into Castiel's mind as though hearing the angel's urging for a location. _"Factory… outside town- please-"_

The terror in Sam's prayer left Castiel even more anxious, but with the new set of directions, the angel was able to adjust his course and fly straight to his human friend. He was already racing to Sam's side even before his feet had solidly hit the ground.

"Sam!" Castiel called, taking in the sight with horror. Sam lay curled on his side, blood already tacky beneath him from a red stain blossoming from his chest. His eyes were closed, body barely moving with breath. There was no sign of Dean, but they would get to that in a moment. The first step was to keep Sam alive.

Kneeling, the seraph placed two fingers against Sam's forehead. The healing effect was instantaneous, removing the bullet and the damage to his organs, scrubbing the blood clean. The hunter heaved in a gasp of air as he shot up to a seated position and clutched at his chest frantically.

"Cas! Castiel!" Sam cried out almost reflexively, eyes clouded with panic.

"Sam." Castiel took his friend's shoulder, bracing him as the human struggled to reorient himself. "I'm here."

The hunter was still breathing heavily, but finally met Castiel's eyes. The measure of relief made Castiel ache, seeing for himself just how terrified Sam had been.

"What happened?" he demanded. "Where's Dean?"

"He- he was taken," Sam replied shakily. "The demon lured us out here… I don't know why. I don't know where he was going..."

Castiel frowned, following Sam's gaze as his friend glanced at the wall and grimaced. The angel's blood turned cold as he saw the message that had been left there.

"The first demon will be the last Seal," Castiel read out loud. "But that was Lilith. She's already dead."

Sam nodded and ran a hand through his hair in a sign of distress. "This is the fifth crime scene," he explained. "All five have referenced Seals, all of them ones that we lost. That's why we came to investigate…" He raised his eyes to Castiel, shining with regret, as he added, "We would have called you, but… I mean, you're at _war_ , and it might have been nothing…"

Again, Castiel silently cursed Raphael for necessitating his prolonged absence. If not for the archangel, he could have been here with his friends, could have protected them. The brothers might have called on him sooner and not be in this position now.

"I understand," Castiel assured him gruffly, though his frown deepened. "I will help you find Dean."

Sam's face fell slack with relief. "Thank you," he whispered, fervent as he clutched Castiel's arm. "I'm sorry. I know you must be busy-"

"Sam," the angel cut him off. "Dean is in trouble. My lieutenants can handle the war in my absence." His eyes traveled to the quote on the wall, daubed in blood. "Perhaps you should tell me everything. With Dean warded, I can't find him. How much head start does the demon have?"

"I don't know," Sam admitted with a disheartened look around. "I- I passed out for a while before I could call you." His shoulders sagged. "But it's light out. It was evening when we got here."

Castiel sighed. For one thing, it meant Sam was extremely lucky to be alive, to have made it all through the night without medical attention. For another, it meant Dean could be far, far away by now, in any direction.

"Did the demon identify himself?" he pressed. "If I can't find Dean, perhaps we can track the demon instead. Why did he take Dean alive, but try to kill you?"

"I don't know," Sam replied, climbing to his feet and looking around again with a hopeless expression. "He acted like he knew us. I didn't get a name, but… but he was so familiar. I know him from somewhere, I _know_ I do. I just can't think where. Do you think… the Seals…"

Castiel shook his head, brushing this off as he also stood. "The Seals won't do any good," he assured Sam. "Those that remained unbroken no longer hold any significance. I believe these messages were meant as a trap to draw you out, not a threat of his plans."

"But then what does he need Dean for?"

A pressing question. "Nothing good, I'm sure. You said there have been five scenes so far?"

"Yeah… The case files are in the car," Sam said, distractedly raking his fingers through his hair again. "Maybe you'll see something we didn't."

Castiel nodded, following Sam as the hunter turned and hurried through the cannery to the main entrance. Outside, the angel paused as Sam gasped and ran towards a set of tire tracks in the dirt.

"The car!" Sam exclaimed. "It was right- he must have stolen the Impala!" He paused, then looked up with hope and determination burning in his eyes.

"Sam?"

"I need my computer. And somewhere with Wi-Fi."

Now that was something Castiel could assist him with. Nodding with staunch resolution, the angel took his friend's arm and prepared to fly.

:::NOW:::

Sam's mind was distracted as he grabbed items off the store shelves. There was only a small selection of fruit at the convenience store, but he picked up a bag of apples and some fresh grapes to put in the refrigerator back at the house they were squatting in. Thank goodness the power hadn't been shut off.

It made him ache to know that if Dean had been himself, he would have teased Sam mercilessly that the younger hunter's first concern was whether they could keep their fruit fresh.

He added a few more healthy items to his cart, before wandering over to the tiny bakery section. Maybe if he brought Dean back some pie, he could buy just a little bit of trust, Sam thought humorlessly. Or maybe Dean was too far gone to care about anything so trivial.

Nevertheless, Sam added a plastic container with a slice of cherry pie to the rest of the supplies and headed towards the beverages to also get some bottled water and beers. Then it was just a matter of picking up some basic first aid items—some pain killers for Dean's eyes, a little tube of burn cream, although he doubted it would do much good, some ice packs for where Dean had fought against the cuffs. That should just about do it. They wouldn't be living like kings, but Sam wanted nothing but to get back to his brother and figure out his next move.

Sam payed for his meager purchases, then toted them out to the Impala. He grabbed an apple out of the bag for the road, then pointed the car back up into the hills towards the house where he'd left Dean. The hunter wished he had Bobby's library digitized and loaded on his laptop. Scouring the internet occasionally turned up some good gems, but Bobby had the most comprehensive lore collection of solid intel.

Maybe it wouldn't be a bad idea to start making their way to Bobby's place. Even if the old hunter was out of town, Sam would much prefer letting Dean stay down in the panic room where he had plenty of room to move, rather than stuck in a damn dog crate, of all things.

Except, the drive would be well over 24 hours. How could he do that to his brother? And with the way Dean was becoming increasingly violent, Sam had to wonder if the curse was actually worsening, worming its way in deeper somehow.

By the time he reached the house, Sam hadn't come up with any other ideas. He parked the car and grabbed his bag, then headed into the house.

And froze.

Dean was standing in the doorway of the spare room, holding onto the wall as a guide. Sam should have done a better job checking the hunter for lock picks… of course Dean would have had a spare. Sam slammed the front door and turned the dead bolt, dropping his bag as Dean jolted to a halt.

"Dean!" Sam exclaimed. "You've _got_ to listen to me… it's too dangerous for you to be out there."

"Stay away from me," Dean retorted with a snarl. He held a hand up, but his eyes remained unfocused and sightless. "I can still take you in a fight!"

"I don't want to _fight_ you, Dean! _Please_ , just give me a little time to figure this out. What were you going to do if you got out the door? You're blind. You would have walked right off the side of the mountain!"

"I'll take my chances!"

Dean charged for the door, lumbering forward with both hands swinging as though to knock Sam aside. But he couldn't see, didn't even know there was a box in his way until he tripped over it and fell to the floor with a crash and a grunt.

Great. With Dean leaving him no other option, Sam would _have_ to lock him up again, though he'd been hoping if he could just reason with his brother, they could avoid all that. And Dean was not simply going to walk back into that little cage, and why would he? Which left Sam to be the bad guy.

Figured.

Taking the opportunity, Sam lunged forward, unbuckling his belt as he went and pulling the leather strap free. "Dean, calm down!" he shouted, wrestling his brother as Dean tried to strike out at him again. Sam had the advantage of sight, though, dodging the attempt and catching Dean's wrist instead.

With Dean fighting tooth and claw, Sam had to use all his strength to grapple his brother down and wrangle his arms behind him.

"No!" Dean yelled, legs straining fruitlessly to roll them both over. "Let go of me!"

Sam didn't respond, slipping the loop of his belt over Dean's wrists and cinching it tight behind the hunter's back. Damn it, why couldn't his stupid, stubborn brother just stop fighting for _five_ minutes? This was becoming impossible, and Sam wasn't sure how much more he could take.

"This is _not_ how I pictured my day going," he grumbled as Dean growled and tried to pull free. Satisfied that the bindings would hold his brother for at least a moment or two, Sam jumped up and hurried to his bag. The whole point of staying here was so that he _wouldn't_ have to keep sedating Dean, damn it! Grabbing a syringe, Sam pulled the cap off and knelt back over his struggling brother.

"Get off!" Dean tried to jerk away when the needle pierced his skin, struggling as Sam depressed the plunger halfway instead of giving him the full dose.

"I'm sorry, Dean," Sam apologized for what felt like the hundredth time that day. He pulled the needle out, but didn't move his knee from Dean's back until the hunter's struggles slowed to a feeble twitch. Running his hands up Dean's legs and hips, Sam quickly searched for any _more_ weapons or lock picks his brother might have squirreled away.

"Don't," Dean mumbled, shuddering as Sam pulled the pick from his back pocket. His hands strained weakly at the belt, so Sam went ahead and removed the restraint, now that the sedative was starting to take effect. "Please."

Sam rolled his brother onto his back. "It's just for a while longer," he muttered, hoping he wasn't telling Dean a lie. "Come on."

"No…"

Dean's head lolled back and forth as Sam managed to hoist him to a seated position, and then up to his feet. He had to hold the older hunter tightly, guiding him towards the other room as Dean stumbled along with less resistance. Sam walked him over to the pen and just barely got him inside before the sedative finally claimed him, leaving him out like a light as Sam gently laid his head on a bundled up blanket inside the cage.

Finally. Sam sat back and ran a hand through his hair as he watched his comatose brother. This was just ridiculous. Why could they _never_ catch a break? And how was he supposed to find a counter-curse to a spell when he didn't even know which one had been used, with such limited resources?

Sam's thoughts drifted to Cas. That was the part that concerned him even more; a spell strong enough to take hold on an angel's mind, to turn someone as powerful as Cas, what must it be doing to Dean?

The hunter's eyes trailed over the walls where he had painted warding sigils to hide them from angels and block out communication. With Cas currently a wild card, and Sam not trusting any of the other angels to call on for help, his best bet was to just stay hidden. Glumly, he kissed any chance of making it to Bobby's goodbye. Even with the Impala warded as well, it would leave them too exposed to make the trip.

"I'm so sorry you got involved in this, Cas," Sam murmured, shaking his head. He should have known. Should have just known it was too damn easy, and things going from bad to worse was the Winchester way.

:::THEN:::

"Okay," Sam murmured, connecting his laptop to the café's Wi-Fi. Cas sat across from him in the booth, holding a mug of coffee that he kept forgetting he was supposed to be making a show of drinking. "Here we go. Traffic cameras."

He felt Cas's eyes on him, felt the angel's restlessness that mirrored his own, but at least Sam had a task to focus on. While the website loaded, he glanced up at their angel friend and asked,

"Any chance he's reached out to you?"

Cas shook his head, though Sam already knew the answer would be no, or the angel wouldn't still be sitting there.

"You don't think…"

"I don't believe anyone who went to such lengths to take Dean would be so eager to kill him." He paused, then added, "Besides, I raised his soul from Hell. We do share a bond, as do you and I, Sam. Even if I can't locate him, I can still…" Cas grimaced as though trying to find the right words. "…sense his continued existence. He may simply be unconscious. Or, there are many different sigils that can ward against prayers being heard. If this demon knew of you and the Seals, it likely also knows of me. It will have taken steps to prepare in the event of my interference."

Sam's shoulders slumped as he logged into the traffic camera relay site. "Great. That doesn't sound ominous."

"We'll have to be careful. And you say you knew this demon?"

With a huff of frustration, Sam plugged in the time period he was searching for into the archive and hit the search button. "That's just it," he grumbled. "I swear I've seen him before, but I can't think where. I don't even know his name. Just that he was familiar."

Cas nodded but asked no more, waiting as Sam narrowed his eyes on the laptop screen.

There couldn't be that many black '67 Impalas driving around the Palo Alto region, not at that time of night. Perhaps the demon had beat a straight trail east, but if it had lured them out to California instead of coming to them, it might be keeping Dean somewhere close by.

Minutes ticked by, endless footage rolling across the screen. There were only so many ways it could have come into town with Dean, if indeed they had returned to town at all. Assuming they hadn't made any stops on the way. Assuming they weren't out in the middle of nowhere.

Assuming it hadn't just taken Dean to Hell.

After another half an hour of watching the screen, cognizant of Cas's rigid, statuesque impatience, Sam suddenly jolted in his seat.

"Got 'im!" he hissed, thrusting the computer around so that Cas could lean in to watch as well as the Impala came to a halt at a red light. "North end of town! About ten last night."

"Can you see Dean in the car?" Cas demanded, peering at the screen closely.

"No, the angle's wrong. But I know this area. It's only about twenty minutes from where I went to school for years. If he stays on that road…" Clicking a few buttons, Sam switched to a different camera and knocked the time forward a few moments. Sure enough, the Impala trundled into sight.

But where were they going? Hopping from one camera to the next, Sam watched as the Impala drove around the edge of Loyola, finally parking in a motel lot just visible from a camera down the street. Sam and Cas both leaned in closer, watching as a barely distinguishable figure got out of the car and walked around to the passenger side. Both sighed with relief as it hauled another figure out and carried the limp form into the motel room.

"Not exactly proof of life," Sam murmured, wetting his lips.

"They may still be there," Cas growled as he rose to his feet.

Sam nodded and switched the view to real time, then slumped again with disappointment. "No, the car's gone," he said. "But they must have been there a little while, if he took Dean inside." Damn it. If only he'd woken up sooner…

"Alright. I'll go search the room," Cas offered, twitching with the air of someone who needed to be _doing_ something. Sam understood the feeling. "Perhaps it left behind some sort of hint for what it has planned for Dean or where they were going next."

With an exhale, Sam nodded again. "I'll stay and watch the cameras, track them for as long as I can. Maybe figure out where they ended up or at least which direction out of town they took."

"Alright."

"Cas, wait!" Sam hissed when he realized the angel was about to flit away. He shot a quick glance around. "People will panic if you just disappear. Wait 'til you're outside."

"Oh… yes, of course."

"And Cas? Be careful. I'll call you if I figure out where they're going." Easier than a prayer, given the more two way nature of cell phones.

Cas nodded and hurried from the café as Sam turned back to the laptop screen. The angel hadn't touched his coffee, so Sam pulled it over, not about to waste it. He remembered this place as one of his favorite coffee shops in the area. One of his and Jess's, he amended with a swell of grief that he hadn't had time to feel in years. It seemed like so long ago, Stanford. And while there was no going back, Sam couldn't help but look up and cast his gaze around the café with a bittersweet pang of the life he had never really had a chance at having.

The one time he'd _really_ been convinced he was getting out of the hunting life, and it had been following him all the while. Sam remembered Lucifer's taunts about the demons Azazel had planted in his life, following him from the beginning. How his best friend, Brady, had actually been possessed, how he'd introduced Sam to Jess just so that he could later kill her to manipulate Sam.

No… not all the memories of this place were good ones. Sam glanced at the door as it opened for another group of college aged kids coming in, thinking nothing of it…

…until realization struck like a bolt of lightning.

Sam's face turned white as everything fell into a sharper picture. That demon, the one who had taken Dean… Sam _did_ know him. From here… right here. He didn't know the guy's name, but it had been someone else in the Stanford pre-law program. Not in Sam's class… maybe a year ahead? A year behind?

It didn't matter. Sam's heart darkened with rage at this one more reminder that he'd never been free, not even here. So this guy must have been with Brady, one of the demons set in place by Azazel. That would explain how he knew about the Seals, how he knew about Sam. But then why did he want Dean? As a way to punish Sam for foiling Lucifer's plans, getting the big boss sent back to the pit?

No, Sam thought frantically. That made no sense. If the demon wanted to punish Sam, it wouldn't have tried to kill him, it would have taken him along and made him watch as Dean was tortured before his eyes. Something else was going on here.

Scrambling to retrieve his phone, Sam hit Cas's name and waited frantically for the angel to pick up.

"Cas!" he blurted out as soon as the line clicked. "Cas, something's wrong. I know who he is."

There was no answer. Sam frowned.

"Cas?" he repeated.

The hunter's stomach clenched. " _Cas_!"


	4. Chapter 4

_A/N: I hope everyone is still enjoying this =) Some things are about to start making more sense! First, let's catch up with Cas and see what happened..._

* * *

:::THEN:::

Castiel held the phone numbly. He could hear Sam as though from a great distance, calling his name, but the angel couldn't rip his stupefied gaze from what he was seeing long enough to reply. His head was spinning. This… this was all wrong.

"Cas, I mean it! What the hell is going on? _CAS_!"

The angel gave himself a shake as he finally registered the panic and desperation in Sam's voice. Right… he'd answered the phone, now he was supposed to speak. Castiel cleared his throat and put the phone to his ear.

"Sam."

The hunter released a heavy sigh laden with obvious relief on the other end of the line. "Don't _do_ that to me, Cas! I've already lost Dean. Don't you go disappearing on me, too! What's happening?"

"Apologies," Castiel murmured, realizing his prolonged silence had frightened his friend. "I found the room. But, Sam… something isn't right. This place…"

"What is it?"

Castiel turned in a slow circle, eyes tracking across the motel room. "I believe you would refer to it as… disturbing. Sam, you- you need to see this. You'll see what I mean. Hold on, I'll come get-"

"Whoa, whoa. Cas, we just talked about this, man. You can't fly into the middle of a crowded coffee shop." There was a rustle of movement as Sam finished, "Meet me back outside in the alley where you left from."

Castiel nodded and hung up. With one more look at the unsettling scene, he spread his wings and swiftly flew back to the café where he had left Sam.

It took only a moment for the hunter to hurry out of the building and around to the alley where Castiel waited.

"I know who the demon is," Sam declared with a glower. "A guy I went to school with, at Stanford. Palo Alto isn't far from here, so I guess he just stuck close to the area Azazel sent him. But why do this _now_?"

Castiel didn't try to find an answer for Sam, merely took his arm and held tight. He flew back in a rapid flapping of feathers and celestial currents, landing once more in the motel room.

"Ugh," Sam groaned as soon as he'd found his footing. With his head ducked, arm over his face, he straightened slowly. "No offense, but I hate flying. Okay, so what was so…"

Castiel was already standing by the desk as the hunter's question trailed off. He picked up the book he'd been looking at before Sam called, waiting as his friend soaked in the scene around them. "As I said," he stated matter-of-factly. "I believe you would call this disturbing."

"What… the…"

Sam drifted to the nearest wall, gaping at the news clippings and photographs that papered the entire surface.

They were all of Sam.

"This, uh…" the hunter started, before trailing off. His face turned white. Pointing to one photograph, he hoarsely whispered, "This… is from the crime scene the other night, when Dean and I were talking."

Castiel nodded as Sam raised his hands to his head, looking at the rest.

"Newspaper stories from cases we worked… photos of me and Dean…" Sam paused and sucked in a breath. "Um… this picture is of me and Jess."

"Your girlfriend before Dean returned for you," Castiel clarified. He held up an open book. "It gets worse."

"How can it get _worse_? What, we have a demon stalker?"

"Um, no," Castiel admitted. "For one thing, I don't believe he was targeting both you and Dean. I feel certain it's… just you."

Sam stormed over, face a nauseated shade of green, to examine the book Castiel had. He stuttered to a halt. "Oh, god…"

 _Sam Winchester Sam Winchester Sam Winchester Sam Winchester Sam Winchester Sam Winchester Sam Winchester Sam Winchester Sam Winchester Sam Winchester Sam Winchester Sam Winchester_

Every square inch of the margins was filled with Sam's name. The hunter tore the book out of Castiel's hands, flipping to the next page. It was more of the same.

"That's my signature. Is he… practicing?" he demanded.

"It would seem so," Castiel affirmed with a frown. "Look at the cover."

Sam slammed the book closed, then dropped it on the desk with a frustrated shout as soon as he registered the title.

"I'm gonna _kill_ Chuck!" he snarled, glowering at the weathered copy of _Supernatural: The Benders_. "Okay, so he has one of the books."

"Well…" Castiel stepped aside, gesturing to a cardboard box sitting on the floor… then the bedside table… then the dresser. Books were piled everywhere, spanning the entire collection of Carver Edlund's series.

Sam groaned and ran a hand down his face. "Okay… so he has _all_ the books. I don't suppose he's got Dean's name in there anywhere."

"It does seem to be primarily you that he's fixated on," Castiel admitted. "It's not just your name, though. Look through some of the other pages."

"I don't think I want to."

The angel picked the book back up, flipping to a dog-eared section with more scribbles in the margins. "He's annotated it," he explained. "Summaries of your character, notes on the way you speak, how you think. He's not just practicing your signature, Sam, he's studying you. In great depth. Your habits, your history, everything."

Sam turned away from the books, returning to the photographs on the walls. "How far back?" he demanded. "Chuck didn't start publishing these until I had already left Stanford. But… here's one of me in class. This one is me at the university gym. This-" Again, the hunter paled. "Is me _sleeping_?"

Stepping over to Sam, Castiel nodded. "He must have sneacked into your room and photographed you at night without your knowledge."

Sam glared at him. "Thank you, Cas."

The angel nodded back gravely. "You're welcome. From the notes I've seen in here, he's collected information about you as a child, however the photographs and news stories don't seem to begin until you were here. You said he trained at this school with you?"

"Yeah," Sam murmured, looking around again. "Okay, so I get what you mean by disturbing. But if he was… obsessed with me…" His voice stuttered on the words. "…why did he try to kill me? And why take Dean alive if I was the one he…?"

"Yes, he does mention Dean several times in his notations," Castiel agreed. "Not to the same extent. He seems to dwell heavily on your relationship with your brother. But why kill one of you and merely take the other… I don't know."

Sam sighed. "None of this makes any sense. We know Azazel had the demons keeping track of me, but the other one possessed one of my friends. What's with the stalker routine?"

Ah. Yes, that was the other point that Castiel hated to make, yet it was a vital piece of information. He sighed. "Sam. Why did he shoot you?"

Sam frowned. "Um, because he was trying to kill me."

"Yes, but why use a human weapon? Instead of simply snapping your neck with a twist of his hand, he shot you."

"Well…"

"And this room. Look at it. He's spent time here, a _lot_ of time. And it's so small, confined, it should be reeking of sulfur." Castiel lifted his head, inhaling deeply. He shook his head. "Yet I don't smell a thing."

Sam turned to face him fully now, jaw clenched. "Are you saying…?"

Castiel met his eyes with a grim frown. "Sam… there was never any demon."

:::NOW:::

Dean's entire body felt heavy as consciousness dragged him back out of his drugged sleep. His head throbbed in protest but that was nothing compared to the nausea. The sedatives, combined with the fact that he hadn't eaten in what felt like ages, made his stomach cramp and churn.

The panic was definitely not helping either, but when Dean blinked his eyes open only to be met with a whole lot of nothing, it was hard to keep himself calm. This was never a disadvantage he'd had to deal with, not like _this_.

Taking deep breaths, Dean forced himself to use his other senses. He couldn't hear anything but his own shaky inhalations, nothing to suggest his captor was close by. No shivers on the back of his neck to warn him that he was being watched.

Just the thought did leave a fine shudder worming its way down his spine, but Dean pushed that aside as he maneuvered himself upright. As soon as he felt the wire links above him, the hunter's heart sank a little. So he was back in the cage. So much for his escape.

"Damn it," he whispered, trying to pretend he wasn't as scared as he was. "Okay. Okay, think…"

Dean patted his pockets, even though he knew everything had already been taken from him. Yup, nothing there. Even his socks and boots, it seemed, once Dean realized why his feet were so cold. That was weird. Why had this freak taken his shoes away, too? Probably in search of more weapons; a good call, since Dean did normally keep a knife in his boot.

Shrugging this off, Dean reached out to feel around the dog pen, on the off-chance there was anything remotely useful. His fingers brushed against something long, thin, and crinkly.

A candy bar. More than one, it seemed. Dean groped blindly around until he knocked against something cool and plastic. Water.

Much as he hated to accept anything from this creep, Dean couldn't deny that he was starving, and parched to the point of desperation. Scrunching up his face in distaste for being forced to give in, Dean nevertheless unwrapped the candy bar and brought it up to his nose for a sniff.

It smelled like chocolate, and why would the bastard go through the trouble of kidnapping him and locking him in a cage just to poison him? Mistrustful nevertheless, Dean took a bite. He couldn't help releasing a soft moan as soon as his brain registered the food at last, and he scarfed down the rest without bothering to worry about poison and then felt around for the next one to devour as well.

Patting around for the water bottle next, Dean grabbed it and twisted the cap off to take a long drink. When he'd had his fill, he wiped his mouth and tried to force himself to think a little clearer.

He needed to get out of here. Dean didn't know what his captor had planned for him, but he didn't want to wait around to find out. He'd been _so close_ to escaping earlier, though he had to admit Psycho Boy had been right that once he got out of the house, he was going to have an even harder time. Dean had no idea where he was, whether he was still in California anymore. He had no phone, no weapons, no sight, not even any boots now.

A thought struck Dean suddenly, remembering how his kidnapper had patted him down, checking his pants pockets but mostly ignoring his upper body. Maybe he had overlooked… _Yes_!

Dean reached into his inner jacket pocket to retrieve a slim set of picks with grim triumph. It never hurt to carry a couple backups for his backups. Pulling himself over to the door of the dog pen, Dean felt for the padlock keeping it closed and went to work. Fortunately, picking a lock relied much more heavily on touch than sight, and it took only a moment for the mechanisms to pop open again.

Dean paused, listening with all his might, trying to hear anyone in the house over the volume of his pounding heart. Nothing stirred. Without the use of his eyes, and with how many times he'd been sedated for unknown lengths of time, Dean was completely disoriented to any sense of day or night. He didn't even know by now how long he'd been a captive.

All he knew was that he needed to escape, _now_ , while he had the chance. Dean crawled out of the pen, remembering from his first escape that it was a straight shot forward to the doorway, and then he'd have to feel his way out of the house from there. Holding out his hands to keep himself from hitting any walls, Dean took a deep breath and hurried forward.

It took a few steps for the pain to register.

Dean shouted in pain as fiery tongues of agony stabbed through his feet, and he went down hard. When he tried to catch himself on his hands, they too felt the bite of a dozen sharp edges. Dean cried out again, curling on the floor, hearing the light tinkle of glass the movement caused.

The- the floor… reaching one shaking hand towards his other palm, Dean felt the shards digging into his hands, and his feet from where he'd tried to run. Glass. The floor beneath him was covered in broken glass. And now Dean thought back to why his attacker would have taken away his thick-soled boots…

His feet and hands stung as fire flashed through them with every throb. Dean tried to force down shaky cries as he frantically brushed his palms to dislodge some of the bigger pieces. They seemed mostly okay, but his feet… Dean was glad he couldn't see the damage, but it also meant he couldn't see how far the broken glass extended, which direction to crawl to get away from this. His multiple layers and denim jeans protected the rest of his body, but now Dean had no idea how he was supposed to run unless he dug all the glass out.

"Dean!"

Panic flared in Dean's heart as the footsteps came pounding in from another room. Hyperventilating, he tried to scramble backwards, only succeeding in digging more glass back into his palms.

"Dean, stop!" his kidnapper protested. "Hold on, I'll get you out."

"Don't touch me!" Dean snapped gruffly. His heart sank, knowing he was caught. He held up a hand but had no chance of warding the man off. Glass crunched from right in front of him and then a firm grip latched around his wrist. From his position, Dean didn't have the leverage to pull himself away.

"Hey, it's okay. I gotcha," the man said, voice so gentle and worried that it made Dean even more furious.

This latest failed escape was the last straw and he could feel himself breaking. He couldn't wriggle free as he felt himself be hoisted up in a fireman's carry, which was humiliating enough without the fact that he was being rescued by his own kidnapper.

"I'm gonna kill you," he seethed tightly, letting anger cover his hopelessness at his current situation. "You hear me?"

The shoulder he was draped across sagged. "Dean… for the last time. It's _me_ , it's-"

"No, _stop_!" Dean gritted out. "Just stop it! You're not!"

He felt himself lowered down into a chair, the ground beneath him free of glass. He assumed. It was hard to tell with the shards already embedded in his feet making his soles flash with fire every time he touched the floor. Dean tried to prop his feet up on the edges of his heels as much as possible.

"I'm sorry about this, Dean," his captor murmured, guilt heavy in his voice—again angering Dean all the more.

The hunter didn't get a chance to ask what he was sorry about, the glass or the kidnapping as a whole, before he felt strong hands catch his wrists and pull them behind him. Dean slumped, not having much choice but to let his hands be tied together behind the chair. At least the rope went over his coat sleeves, tight enough to hold him but not so tightly that it hurt.

"It's for your own good," his captor insisted yet again, as though Dean had bothered protesting at this point. "Just to keep you from hurting yourself more. I don't like doing this."

"You keep saying that," Dean snarled, trying to jerk his hands free of the bonds just on principle. "But you keep _doing_ it. Glass, really? What kind of Saw shit is that?"

"I just need you to hold on a little longer," Psycho Boy urged. "I'm so close to finding a cure, I know it."

"I don't need a cure! There's nothing wrong with me!"

"That demon cursed-"

"Just _stop_ already!" Dean's heart thudded in his chest as he turned his face towards the sound of the voice with fury. "How stupid do you think I am? There was no demon, and there was no curse!"

He heard a sigh, then a hand on his shoulder that made him shrink away without thinking.

"Then how do you explain forgetting your own brother?" his captor asked. "Dean, _please_. It cursed you to forget me, to forget that I'm Sam-"

"You're not Sam!" Dean bellowed. "You are _not_ my brother, you freak! There was no curse making me forget about Sam! I know my brother, and you're not him! That's why you blinded me, isn't it? Because you don't even look like Sam, you don't even _sound_ like him-"

The open palm across his face took Dean by surprise, making him gasp and then fall silent. Though his kidnapper had put a gun to his head, had tied him up and drugged him and locked him in a cage, this was the first time he'd actually hit Dean. Not that the slap even hurt that much, but it did bring Dean's predicament into sharp relief: he couldn't see, couldn't move, couldn't protect himself.

God, he was seriously screwed.

"I'm sorry," his kidnapper murmured, sounding contrite, not that Dean trusted that. "Sorry, Dean. It doesn't matter. I'm about to fix that. I finally worked out the spell I need."

"What? What spell? What are you talking about?"

There was no answer, just a rustle of movement away from him to a different corner of the room. Dean didn't hear any glass underfoot, which meant the trap didn't cover the entirety of the floor. Perhaps if he felt his way more carefully next time, he could avoid the glass…

Dean's heart pounded as he listened to his captor prepare whatever ingredients he was using for whatever spell he was trying to cast.

"You know," he said, stalling for time, "me and Sam—the _real_ one—we thought you were a demon. But you're a witch, aren't you?" he murmured. "That's how you did that voodoo to my eyes. But how did you know about the Seals?"

He heard a chuckle.

"I know much more than that, Dean. I know everything. The books went into a lot of depth-"

"The _books_?" Dean's jaw tightened. "Damn it, Chuck…"

"-but I have to admit they lacked so much of the nuances of Sam when we were in school. Still so young, so hopeful. You should have seen the way his face would light up when he smiled, back when he used to smile."

Dean froze. "You went to Stanford with him." And the creep had said "here", which meant they had to still be somewhere in California, at least. This tidbit paled in comparison to the nauseating realization that Psycho Boy was clearly obsessed with Sam, had been _stalking_ him even. Had Sam known? He'd never mentioned it…

"He's perfect," his kidnapper gushed. "Strong, confident. Saved the world. Sam Winchester is a hero. Never even noticed me, of course. No one ever does."

Furtively tugging at his bonds again, Dean grumbled, "Yeah, boo-hoo."

"But now, everything will change. _I_ can be the hero. I can be strong like Sam. I can _be_ Sam."

Dean shook his head. Wow. "You think reading a couple books will turn you into him?"

"Of course not. But I know _everything_ about him. But no matter how hard I tried, it was never quite right. I didn't realize it when we were in school because he never mentioned you much, but the books made it clear that Sam's life—that _Sam_ —isn't complete without his brother."

Dean's stomach churned again and he thought he might be sick. "So you kidnapped me to be your fake brother so you can 'be' Sam? You really are delusional."

His only answer was the sound of a striking match and a flare of fire, followed by a spell in Latin that Dean couldn't begin to translate. He felt the tingle of static and magic mixing in the room, the growing power that suddenly burst like a thunderbolt, sending waves of energy outwards and nearly knocking his chair over.

Dean held his breath as the fizzling feel of magic ebbed away again, not sure what this was meant to have accomplished.

Until: "Dean?"

A hitched sob tightened in Dean's throat before he could bite it back. It was Sam's voice.

"You son of a bitch," he whispered. "You can't just…"

"Dean, I'm here," his kidnapper protested, only he sounded _exactly_ like Sam, Sam's worry, Sam's care. "Hey, hey. It's okay. I'm gonna take care of you, alright?"

"Stop it!" Dean yelled. "You're not Sam!"

"Of course I am, Dean. That demon-"

"I _told_ you, you didn't 'rescue me' from any demon, and I'm not cursed! I'm not playing your game! You aren't my brother, you understand me? You will _never_ be Sam!"

This time, it wasn't an open hand across his face, but a closed fist. Dean choked out a cry from the unexpected attack, trying to scramble free without success. A hand grabbed the back of his jacket and jerked him upright off the chair, making Dean shout again in pain as the glass pieces in his feet dug in deeper from his body weight.

"I _am_!" his kidnapper screamed, throwing Dean away from him.

Without his hands to catch himself, the hunter hit the floor hard, wind driven out of his lungs even more when a boot kicked him in the stomach.

"I _am_ your brother, I _am_ Sam!"

More blows rained down, terrifying Dean in their mindless rage. But worse than the punishing beating itself was the feel of the hand that closed around his throat a moment later.

Because regardless of what Dean knew to be true, it was Sam's hand. Dean tried to fight back, but he was at too great a disadvantage. He felt himself being dragged across the floor, choking for oxygen, before he was flung away. The wire lattice beneath him said he was once again in the cramped cage.

"The other Sam is dead!" Sam's enraged voice shouted in Dean's face as he heard a padlock clicking closed. "And you can stay here until you come to terms with that! I'm the only brother you have left now!"

Dean's resolve and hope crumbled, heart aching even more than his feet where the glass bit into his soles, or his face which throbbed with the remembered feel of a fist. He didn't even try to fight his way to a seated position, with his hands still tied behind him. All he could do was curl up with a hitched cry at the thought that his brother might truly be gone for good.


	5. Chapter 5

_A/N: :D I'm so happy everyone enjoyed the twist! Well, Dean didn't. Sorry, Dean..._

 _This chapter will bring the "THEN" section up to meet where the "NOW" section began in chapter 1. So there will be a snippet at the end of this first bit that revisits the very first scene you read in the first chapter. ^_^_

 _Thanks to my guest reviewer, and everyone who's been so supportive of this fic. It means more to me than I can express! :)_

 _Also a shout-out to my beta reader, Aini NuFire. If Supernatural blues have you down, check out her story in the Shadowhunters fandom called Essence of Malcontent! She got me hooked on the fandom, darn it :D Nephilim and warlocks and magic, hard for me not to love it. ^_^ _

_Now let's see what's going on with our poor guys..._

* * *

:::THEN:::

"How did this happen?" Sam demanded, pacing his and Dean's motel room as he leveled another scowl at the stack of books Cas had insisted on bringing back with them. "How did we fall right into his hands? He's not even a demon, he's just a human!"

"An extremely intelligent one," Cas pointed out. He seemed unruffled, standing beside the bed and continuing to peruse one of the annotated _Supernatural_ books—which Sam _was_ going to murder Chuck for. "His thought processes seem to be erratic, but show patterns of high mental faculty. Combined with whatever spell-work he used against Dean, and the inside information he was given, it's hardly a surprise that he was able to… take the drop on you."

"It's ' _get_ the drop'," Sam corrected him without thinking about it, storming back over to his waiting laptop to see if the city surveillance had loaded yet. It had. "Finally. Okay, I tracked him a little ways from the motel, let's see where he went next."

The angel finally put the book down, coming up behind Sam to watch over his shoulder. Sam didn't even make a crack about personal space as Cas leaned in closer with a frown; all that mattered was finding Dean.

A moment later, though, his shoulders sagged.

"What is it?" Cas immediately inquired.

"That's it. This road leads out of town, and there's no more cameras after that. But there's a major junction not much further after, which means he could have taken Dean literally almost anywhere from there."

Cas made a small sound of annoyance. "What about Dean's phone?" he asked. "Haven't you used them to locate each other before?"

"Yeah, it's called a GPS… I'll have to show you how that works at some point. Most phones have them now. I thought about that, but when I checked earlier, the one in Dean's phone had been turned off and the account locked out. I can't turn it back on from here." Sam leaned back in his chair, temporarily out of ideas. And meanwhile, this psycho had his brother, and had shown no qualms about hurting either of them. "I don't even know why he wants Dean," Sam murmured as he closed his eyes.

"Perhaps we should ask him."

Sam's eyes popped open again, casting a perplexed look at Cas, but the angel seemed serious. "Uh… no offense, Cas, but as far as plans go, that's not your best."

"We have nothing to go on," he pointed out with a shrug. "He _must_ have a reason for this. Maybe if we could speak to him, he'd give something away. Sam, _any_ clue would be helpful. I've been trying to sense him, now that I know who we're looking for, but… there's nothing. He's hidden himself from angels, probably demons as well. Perhaps it's not my best idea, but have you got a better one?"

Sam twisted his mouth, scowling. The truth was, he didn't. "If the GPS is off, he might have destroyed Dean's phone."

"One way to find out."

Well, what did they have to lose? Sam's mind worked furiously, considering the options, before he nodded to Cas.

"You should make the call," he decided. "Don't let him know you saved me. If he thinks I'm dead, that might be useful to us later on, in case we need the element of surprise."

Cas blinked owlishly at Sam and reached a hand into the pocket of his overcoat to draw out his cellphone. "Me?" he asked. "I, um… I don't have the same knack for human interaction as you do."

"You won't be talking to a human. You're talking to a psychopath."

"Ah," Cas commented with a dry look. "Yes, I have much more experience with that."

If the situation wasn't so dire, Sam might have laughed in surprise at the unexpected sarcasm from the usually emotionless angel, but as it was, he gestured to the phone with increased fervor. "It's gotta be you, Cas. Just act like you're calling to check in with us between missions in Heaven. That way, he won't know you talked to me. Maybe he'll make Dean answer like nothing's wrong, but I'll understand his distress codes and anything else he tries to tell you."

Still looking unconvinced, Cas nevertheless pushed a few buttons before holding the phone out so Sam could hear as well. There was a pause, then the call went through as the line connected. So the kidnapper hadn't ditched the phone, but had been savvy enough to disable the GPS and shut out anyone who came snooping…

"Hello?" a casual voice answered several seconds later.

Cas bristled. "This isn't Dean."

"Right. Neither is this," the kidnapper replied with a chuckle. "What's up, Cas?"

"How do you know my-" Cas started to demand, before breaking off as his eyes drifted to the stack of books they'd found. "Never mind."

"Uh, it's called caller ID, Cas," the kidnapper snickered. "How's everything in Heaven?"

He sounded so at ease, it was starting to make Sam's skin prickle. Something was just weird about this. He didn't even seem cocky, like he was taunting the angel… he genuinely sounded curious, as though they were just having a normal conversation. From the pinching of Cas's brow, the angel was as put off as Sam.

"Where is Dean?" he demanded harshly. "Why are you on his phone?"

"Well, there's been an incident," the man explained, tone dropping morosely. "Actually, look, I'm really glad you called."

Cas blinked, looking to Sam, who could only shrug. "You… you are?"

"Yeah. I could use your help with him. We tangled with a demon, and Dean got hit with something. A curse, I'm guessing. He's not acting like himself."

"What are you talking about?" Cas snapped, which Sam also wanted to know. Why was he inventing this elaborate story about a demon?

"It's like he doesn't know me. I've never seen anything like it. We're talking total amnesia, Cas. He keeps saying I'm not Sam, and threatening to kill me. And without knowing what curse was used, I don't know how to undo it, and he's getting more violent. I've got him tied up right now but obviously-"

"What are you _talking_ about?" Cas repeated with a warning crackle in his voice. "Did you just say you were Sam?"

Sam was already on his feet, staring at the phone Cas held with his heart pounding. Pieces were starting to fall into place, and the picture it was forming was even worse than he had previously been imagining.

There was a short pause, and if anything, the man's voice seemed more confused than Sam felt when he answered, "Uh… who did you think you were talking to, Cas?"

"You," Cas snarled, "are _not_ Sam Winchester. What have you done to Dean?"

"Cas? Man, you- you're kinda freaking me out. And I don't need any more to freak out about than I've already got here. I've already lost Dean, don't do this to me. It's me, it's Sam-"

"You are _not_ Sam!" Cas repeated, even more thunderous. His grip on the phone tightened so fiercely that Sam was afraid he might break it. "You believe I would not know Sam Winchester when I spoke to him? You can't deceive an angel, _boy_. Now… you will tell me where Dean is, and you will surrender him to me and pray I don't smite you down."

Another long silence followed the demand, and when the kidnapper spoke again, Sam heard genuine dismay.

"Oh no… it got you, too, didn't it?"

"What?"

"The demon. The curse. It's turned you against me. It must have, it's the only explanation."

Cas whirled, the bedside lamps dimming and buzzing with the force of his anger.

"Let me make this perfectly clear. I am coming to get Dean back from you. I have been to Hell in order to save him before, and if I have to pursue you all the way to Hell now to do so again, make no mistake… I will."

"You were hit by the demon," the man spoke again with a heavy sigh, unfazed. "You were with me when I rescued him, and you got dosed with the curse, too."

"There was no demon!"

"Yes, you were definitely there at the time. But how could a demon's curse be strong enough to affect an angel? This is worse than I thought. But if I can find the cure for Dean, I can find it for you, too. I'll have to double the warding… Just hang in there, Cas. I _will_ fix this. For both of you. I promise."

"What-"

"Bye, Cas."

The line went dead. Cas stared at his phone, residual anger on his face mixing with bafflement. "I don't understand," he growled. "He must have known he couldn't actually fool me. It doesn't make sense."

"It does," Sam whispered, throat tight and stomach hollow. "Cas, it _all_ makes sense. The pictures, the books, him calling himself Sam…"

He raked his fingers through his hair, remembering his own brief interaction with "Sam" right before he'd been shot. "When I asked him what he wanted, he said… 'your life'. I- I thought it was just a strange way of making a death threat, but… he meant, he literally wanted to have my life. He's obsessed, Cas, but just stalking wasn't enough, he- he wanted to _be_ me. Badly enough that he's created this entire fantasy, and _believes_ it."

"You're saying, in his own mind, he was… telling the truth?"

"That's why he tried to kill me. He knew he couldn't truly be Sam Winchester, if _I_ still was." His eyes drifted to the books again, a sense of dread flooding his heart. "And he knows how close Dean and I are. He needed Dean to complete the fantasy. But obviously Dean would resist that, so he created a story in his mind that Dean's under some kind of spell or curse. And then, when _you_ knew it wasn't me, he had to adjust the fantasy again to include you."

"Again, explaining his conviction," Cas murmured. "But how does he expect to 'fix' Dean? Nothing he does will change Dean's knowledge that he's been kidnapped by someone only pretending to be you."

And there was the rub. Sam sank back down into the chair, fists clenched. "That's the problem. This guy is psychotic. His mind, the fantasy, it's fragile. If Dean challenges that fantasy, or disrupts it in any way, this guy might snap. The demon curse cover isn't going to hold up forever. Eventually, he's going to get… impatient. And then, I don't want to imagine what he'll do to Dean."

"So you're saying Dean is only safe as long as he plays along and allows his kidnapper to dictate the rules of this make-believe?"

Sam's gaze snapped back to Cas, as they shared a moment of horror.

"Oh god," Sam groaned. "He's already dead."

SPN SPN SPN

Sam hung up on the angel, then set the phone on the dashboard of the Impala. He smashed it in with the butt of his gun, scattering pieces of screen and hard plastic. Then he tossed the ruined phone out the window onto the dusty ground along the road they were parked beside.

"This is worse than I thought," he said, twisting towards Dean in the passenger seat, who was breathing heavily against the duct tape gag Sam had been forced to hurriedly slap on him when Cas's name showed up on the phone. "With both you _and_ Cas out of commission…" They needed to get to a safe spot, and fast. Unfortunately, that meant he couldn't have Dean causing more distractions like trying to jump out of the car again.

He reached over and pealed the tape away, wincing in sympathy. "Ooo… sorry."

"You're psychotic," Dean snarled as soon as he was able. "You're seriously insane!"

He was starting to get worked up, Sam realized. He reached into the seat behind him to grab a needle from his bag. Dean stiffened at the sound and the motion.

"Wait, what are you doing? What is that? Don't you touch me, you psycho!"

"Dean, _please_ ," Sam exclaimed with a disheartened sigh. "I know this sucks. I don't like it either, believe me, but until we can fix this-"

"No!" Dean shouted, thrashing wildly with both hands cuffed together to fend him off. "Get away from me!"

"Dean, listen to me," he urged. "You've got to calm down, okay? Come on, bro, just-"

"You're not my brother!" Dean cut him off with venom in his voice. He lurched blindly for the passenger door, trying to unlock it and get out.

The vicious proclamation cut through to Sam's heart, making him swallow back the pain and remind himself once again that this wasn't his brother's fault.

But he would fix Dean. And they'd get on with their lives.

And nothing was going to stop him.

:::NOW:::

He was humming. Dean couldn't see the psycho, but he could hear him approaching, humming in Sam's baritone voice. It set him on edge, because Psycho Boy sounded happy but Dean clearly remembered the berserk fists swinging at his face not all that long before.

Dean hadn't moved from where he'd been thrown. He couldn't bring himself to even try working his hands free. He didn't have any more picks, and his feet still felt like they were on fire from the broken glass he'd run through, and he had no means of contacting help even if he could get away. It was like Hell all over again, to be so thoroughly trapped.

The humming drew closer, soon right beside Dean's ear.

"Dean?" Sam's gentle voice asked. "Hey… it's okay. It's okay, I'm here."

With a sharp exhale, Dean finally tried to jerk free, to no avail. Fear simmered within him, but also anger, that this bastard would dare put on Sammy's voice.

"Stay away from me."

There was a short pause, then a sigh. "It's alright, Dean. This isn't your fault. But I won't let anything happen to you, I _promise_. You're my big brother. I don't know what I'd do without you."

"You're not Sam," Dean growled, but the bravado couldn't cover his defeat. He flinched when he heard the padlock click, hating himself for showing fear, but he had no idea what to expect from this madman. Sam's hand took his face, but the touch was careful, kind—Dean hated him for it.

"Oh my god, I'm so sorry, Dean…. I didn't realize the demon had hurt you so bad."

…What?

"Your face is all bruised. What did he do?"

A frustrated exclamation caught in Dean's throat as his heart flared with fury and stubbornness. He had no idea what to think. Was this lunatic serious? Was he just pretending, or was he crazy enough that he actually didn't remember coming in here and beating the crap out of Dean for not agreeing that he was Sam?

"Come on," the psycho went on, now taking Dean's arm and urging him backwards.

The wire of the cage rattled as Dean awkwardly scooted out, not having much choice in the matter. The grip on his arm was stronger now than when Dean had first been kidnapped. He realized with dismay that if that spell had changed this guy's body to look like Sam's, Dean had almost no hope of making a break for it; his kidnapper would have just doubled his muscle mass and strength.

At least he was out of that damn dog pen, but Dean didn't feel much safer out here, more exposed, more room for this nut-job to start working him over again if he wanted to.

Not to mention he still couldn't walk. Fortunately, the sound of a chair being dragged over from nearby assured Dean that he wouldn't have to. The psycho didn't untie his hands, but helped him sink down into the seat.

"Let me take care of your feet," Psycho Boy pressed. He didn't give Dean a chance to respond, not that refusing to let him help would have done any good, and he grabbed Dean's bare ankle and pulled one leg out.

Dean heard another chair scootching across the floor, then his foot was settled on his kidnapper's lap. He wanted to pull away just on principle, but even he knew that his only shot of escape would be ruined if he couldn't stand, let alone run. So he clenched his jaw and satisfied himself in not making a sound of pain even though Psycho Boy wasn't being all that careful in pulling the glass shards out of Dean's foot.

"I wish I could make you trust me again," the crazy guy said with tangible regret that didn't win him any sympathy. "I'm not going to hurt you, Dean."

"Yeah, why would I ever think you would?" Dean growled, feeling his cheek throb from the earlier beating. There was no reply, so Dean shook his head and fell silent again as his kidnapper continued to pick out the glass, then switched to his other foot. Dean subtly tried pressing his heel into the ground but stopped with a strangled growl of pain. Even without the glass, it hurt so bad. How was he ever going to get himself out of there? How was he going to find Sammy again? Was Sam even alive?

Dean's heart clenched; he'd been trying to avoid thinking about it, hanging onto denial as his only weapon against hopelessness. Sam couldn't be killed by something as ordinary and stupid as a human… not even one with a gun. He was fine. He _had_ to be fine.

"There, that's the worst of it," Psycho Boy said. He didn't cover the cuts with anything to prevent infection. "How about some food? You haven't eaten anything but candy in over a day. Come on, I brought burgers."

What was he going to do, _hand-feed_ Dean? The hunter felt his face burn, already planning on refusing—again, just on principle—but the hand propelling him up was too strong for him to pull away from, especially with the pulsing fire shooting through his feet and legs as soon as he put any weight on them.

"Here we go," his kidnapper urged. "I'll walk you around the glass."

"Just get rid of it!"

"I can't do that, Dean. You're still a danger to yourself."

Dean tried to yank away. "There's nothing wrong with me! Ah!" He couldn't bite back the outcry, limping painfully and slowly. _Damn_ it, yeah, there was no way he was going to be able to run for it.

"Almost there," Psycho Boy said, continuing to guide Dean with a hand on his arm. "I'll untie you to eat. I know you'd get all pissy if I tried to help you."

"Hope you're not expecting thanks."

He heard a sigh. "No, not really…"

Finally, Dean felt the hand on his arm urge him to a stop. He tensed when fingers shifted to his wrists, working at the rope that bound him. He'd lost track of where he was in relation to the front door, and since he couldn't run or see, it would do no good to try making a break for it now, but maybe he could still get a punch in. Except that might earn more retaliation, and he really was starving. Dean despised the idea of behaving for this creep, but Sam—the real Sam—would tell him it was the smart move.

Dean swallowed and let himself be pushed down into another chair, not even complaining when his kidnapper lashed his left hand to the wooden arm to leave only his right free to eat. This time, "Sam" didn't apologize for the restraint.

"It's in front of you," Psycho Boy said simply, before a movement of displaced air told Dean that he'd stepped away.

Feeling forward, Dean knocked his hand into the table before managing to find the plate in front of him, a burger sitting on top of it. It was a little unwieldy to manage one-handed, but Dean was too hungry to care about being neat. He'd needed this food, after all the drugs he'd had shot into him, and every bite cleared his head a little more.

If Sam _had_ survived, he thought as he chewed, would he be able to find him? Not by tracking his phone, certainly. Not after the bastard had destroyed it after Cas called-

Cas.

Dean's stomach clenched, a combination of food and shock. He'd been in so much panic, he hadn't even thought about the angel. Cas had called, he _knew_ Dean was missing. Maybe he'd even found Sam. Except, Sam was warded… unless he'd been able to pray for help?

Help. Dean could pray for help! Cas wouldn't be able to find him either, without some kind of guidance from his prayer… and Dean didn't know where he was, to tell their guardian angel.

 _Cas_ , he thought with all his might, continuing to chew his burger and hoping he didn't look too obvious. _Cas, if you can hear me… I need help. This psycho thinks he's Sam, and I'm stuck here with no way out. I can't see… I really, really need you, buddy. I don't know where I am, but I think we're still in California…_

Yeah, that was helpful. Dean's stomach clenched again as he added,

 _If you haven't seen Sam, find him first. He was shot. Cas, please, even if you can't find me, you gotta save Sammy. Please…_

"You know," the psycho suddenly interrupted him, "it won't be like this forever. I've almost worked out a cure. I'm scouring the lore. And once I fix you from this spell, I can fix Cas."

Dean froze at the mention of the angel, again hoping it hadn't been obvious that he'd been concentrating on praying.

"Still can't believe that curse could even affect him. But I've got the place warded so he'll never find us. Nothing in, nothing out."

So much for praying, then…

"Might not be a bad idea to get some holy oil ready, just in case," the psycho finished musingly.

"No!" Dean blurted out. "Don't you dare!"

"I know he's our friend-"

"No, he's _not_ our friend, he's _my_ friend!" Dean shouted. "Get it into your head, you're not Sam! You will _never_ be Sam! You're just a freak who could never fill his shoes-"

"Shut up!"

Dean didn't have enough warning and couldn't have evaded his attacker anyway. Sam's powerful grip latched around Dean's free wrist, slamming it down onto the table. A second later, his world exploded into pain again as something sharp pierced all the way through his hand to pin him to the wooden surface.

Dean couldn't help it; he screamed. Hot liquid covered his hand, the familiar smell of blood ripe in the air as his brother's manic voice shouted in his ear.

"I'm Sam! I'm Sam, I _am_ Sam! You have to call me Sam, Dean!"

Something struck him in the side of the head, and Dean instinctively tried to wrest himself away, but the knife pinning his hand left him helpless. When the blade was ripped back out, Dean shouted again.

"No!"

"I'm going to take care of you, Dean," Sammy's voice hissed as something sharp slid under Dean's chin, still wet and warm with his own blood.

Dean didn't dare move or speak, the blade pressing against his throat for a second as his kidnapper crooned,

"Deny me all you want, but I'm never going to let you go. It's okay, Dean. It's okay now. I've got you."


	6. Chapter 6

_A/N: Hi guys! Since the THEN has caught up with the NOW, this chapter won't have any scene jumping. Enjoy! For those of you who know I can't write a fic without whumping Cas a little, here you go..._

* * *

Castiel swept over the city of Los Gatos once again, hoping against hope that maybe this time he would spot the elusive black car. Dean's "baby". It seemed to have disappeared off the face of the earth, though, and Dean along with it. Castiel was certain that this man who had kidnapped Dean knew enough about angels from his research to have effectively hidden them both, but he'd hoped his quarry wouldn't think to also put the highly recognizable car under some kind of cover.

But either he'd already thought of that, or they were simply long, long gone from here.

By now, Dean had been in this madman's clutches for over a day and a half. Castiel paused in his flight, perching unseen on the roof of a downtown building as he squinted up at the afternoon sun. A full night of searching had yielded no results, and the angel was starting to doubt that this method of randomly selecting a town to canvas would achieve anything. But what other options did they have?

 _Castiel. Do you ever plan on coming home, or did you decide to make my temporary promotion permanent?_

Castiel winced; Balthazar sounded most displeased. Gravely, he shook his head and replied through their connection, _I'll return when I can. Is there word of Raphael or his forces?_

 _Not yet, but-_

 _Continue taking care of things, Balthazar. There's something I must deal with._

Balthazar's voice soured even more. _Mm-hmm. I do hope you'll tell those Winchesters of yours thanks for nothing from me. Oh, and don't be surprised if you come back and I decide not to give up the commander mantle._

Castiel bit back a smile. _Perhaps that's not a bad idea. Leadership suits you._

 _How dare you._

Knowing Balthazar would rather suffer a thousand deaths than take on such a responsibility forever, Castiel assured him one last time that he would be back as soon as he could. Then, he cast another look around the bustling Los Gatos. It seemed to be a bust, as Dean would say. Perhaps it was time to move on to the next city.

The phone in his pocket buzzed, giving him another moment to rest as the angel retrieved the device and accepted the call.

"Sam. I told you to stop and sleep for a while. We were up all night."

"Yeah, I know. I got a couple of hours in. Listen, I've been thinking… They're going to need somewhere to lie low, right? I mean, he can't stay on the run forever. But he left the motel after only one night, so surely he already had another idea in mind, right?"

"I suppose."

"At first I thought he'd try to get as far away from here as he can, but now I'm not so sure. Not when he has Dean to deal with. Besides, as far as he knows, you're the only one who might be after him, so it doesn't matter how far he runs because distance wouldn't make a difference with you. And then I thought, what if he actually has somewhere to stay close by? A house, or a family member's place. So I thought I could find his real name and check to see if he owns any property."

"Yes, good idea. Did he give a name at the motel we found?"

Sam snorted. "Uh, yeah… Sam Winchester."

"…Right."

"But he wouldn't have started going by that while he was still in school. So I dug through Stanford's records and found him: Thomas Doppler. And get this, I couldn't find any property under that name, but there's a house up in the hills owned by a Joseph Doppler. Only one with that last name I could find anywhere nearby. I thought, maybe a father?"

Castiel straightened, nodding decisively. "We should investigate," he agreed. "Give me the address. I'll look into it."

"Wait… come get me, first."

The angel shook his head. "It may be nothing. And even if it is, there's no sense him knowing you're still alive. I'll go get Dean back and return him to the motel."

"Cas-"

"It's one human, Sam," Castiel pointed out. Considering the civil war he was facing in Heaven against an archangel and an army of brainwashed siblings, one insignificant human was hardly anything he couldn't handle. "If there is warding I can't get through, I'll come get you. What's the address?"

Sam paused, but read the street and number. Castiel nodded and hung up the phone before returning it to his pocket. He took a deep breath, then took wing.

The address Sam had read to him was far out into the rural mountain countryside, several hours away by human travel but less than a second for an angel in flight. Castiel landed just outside the house, unsure of what sort of sigils might be in place, and unwilling to risk injury by flying brashly in if the dwelling was set to repel him. The angel's shrewd gaze narrowed on the house, now able to feel the vague emptiness in his senses from the warding that concealed this place from him

However, the wardings only seemed to hide the occupants from his view and hearing. When Castiel tentatively placed a hand on the rough adobe, there was no push-back or sizzling warning that he couldn't pass.

With another flap of his wings, Castiel flew inside.

And froze.

He had found Dean, and though the angel had been given no reason to think his friend would be completely unharmed, he still wasn't prepared for the sight.

Dean was sitting in a kitchen chair, one hand bound to it. The mottled skin around his eyes marred his face, raised markings red and inflamed. His milky white gaze was sightless, haunted, and desperate. Added to that, the bruise on one cheek and the dried blood smeared on the other stated all too clearly that his captor had not been gentle.

Castiel's eyes traveled swiftly over Dean, cataloging the rest of the injuries: a thin slice barely breaking the skin at his throat, free hand that was still oozing blood through a makeshift bandage that wrapped his palm. Dean was also breathing heavily, wheezing just enough for Castiel to determine that his ribs and chest were probably bruised.

Remembering what Sam had said about Dean needing to appease his captor in order to stay safe, Castiel assumed the hunter had not done so.

In the same span it took Castiel to register all of these things, Dean had also frozen, sightless eyes turning in his general direction.

"Cas?" Dean hissed. "Is- is that you?"

He must have detected the sound of Castiel's wings. The angel gave himself a shake and hurried forward.

"Dean!" he growled. "What has he done to you?"

Rather than relief, though, Dean's already tense expression shifted to full-blown panic.

"Cas, _no_!" he cried softly. "It's a trap! Stay back!"

The sound of a striking match behind him warned Castiel that Dean was right, but it was already too late. He whirled in time to see a grim façade of Sam drop the light onto the linoleum floor. Flames sprang up in a circle around him with a dull _whoosh._

"You never did give up easily," Thomas said. "I always liked that about you. But I can't let you hurt Dean."

"I have no intention of hurting Dean," Castiel retorted. He grimaced, then grunted softly in pain. The circle that Thomas had drawn on the floor with the holy oil was far too small, hemming him in so tightly that Castiel didn't dare move an inch in any direction. He pulled his wings in as close as he could; even if they were invisible to human sight, holy fire was more than able to burn them. The heat seared his grace and sent bolts of pain shooting through his entire being.

"Wish I could believe that, Cas. I'm sorry about this."

"Wait!" Dean yelled, trying to jump out of his seat, only to collapse back onto it with a cry. "Wait, just wait. Don't hurt him."

"I'd rather not," Thomas insisted; he scrunched Sam's face into an expression of reluctance, but the dark aura around him suggested otherwise. "But if he's still under the demon's spell… Cas, do you know who I am? I'm Sam, do you remember me?"

Castiel stared at the man before him, all outward appearances taking on the form of Sam Winchester. And yet, Castiel saw him not with Jimmy Novak's human eyes, but with the celestial sight and discernment of an angel of the Lord. He could see that this was not Sam.

And though he knew Thomas would be angry if Castiel denied him, the angel saw that blackened aura and realized it likely didn't matter whether he played the game or not.

"Sam Winchester is my friend," Castiel growled, tucking his wings in even tighter as a tongue of fire licked hungrily at the feathers. "I fought by his side. I carried him from Hell. I've seen his _soul_." He cast a disparaging look at the imposter. "And you can never be anything more than a cheap copy, poorly constructed and poorly played."

Thomas's eyes burned with rage and insanity at the proclamation, but he merely shook his head with a sorrowful mien. "You're too far gone," he said. "The spell is burrowing in deeper and deeper. There's nothing I can do to save you. Which means I have to stop you."

"No, wait!" Dean pleaded again. "You kidnapped me because you thought you needed me, in order to be Sam! Well, what about Cas? You can't kill him, either!"

Thomas sighed. "You overestimate his importance. Of course I admire Cas, and of course he's our friend. But you're a crucial piece of my character, Dean… he's not. If it's between you or him, Cas is expendable."

Castiel's fists tightened, feeling a stirring of anger. Even if this wasn't Sam, hearing the words in his friend's voice burrowed under his skin. He reminded himself that it wasn't even worth a retort, but Dean was not so reserved.

"And you think you know Sam," he snorted, scathing and cold. "If you really believe that, you don't know the first thing about my brother."

"I _am_ your brother!" Thomas exploded as he strode around Castiel and grabbed a chunk of Dean's hair to wrench his head back.

"Sam would never treat him like this," Castiel pointed out with a glower. His fingers itched with the urge to draw his weapon and fling it at Dean's attacker, but the fire was so close that even that much movement would kill him. "The more you hurt him, the more you prove you can't hope to live up to your stolen name."

"The demon turned you against me," Thomas repeated, turning back to the trapped angel but thankfully releasing his hold on Dean as well. "I had hoped the curse would erase all memories of us, and you would leave us alone, but I can see that's not happening. I have to protect my brother, Cas. Even if that means making the hard decision. I can't let you keep hunting us down." He moved to the kitchen counter, picking up an old oil flask. Then he returned to stand in front of Castiel and sighed. "I'm sorry, Cas. It'll be quick."

No, it wouldn't be. Castiel didn't respond more than a tightening of his jaw, but from the pulse of darkness he felt in Thomas, the man already knew as well as Castiel that dousing him in the oil would not be a quick or a painless death. It would be torturous, cruel, and horrific. Castiel raised his chin, too proud to show his dread.

"No, stop!" Dean gasped, eyes flicking uselessly across the space in front of him.

"Sorry, Dean."

"Wait…" Dean took a breath and grimaced, before gritting out, "Sam!"

Both Thomas and Castiel twisted to stare at him. Though Dean slumped with defeat, his voice cracking slightly, he stammered out,

"Don't- don't hurt him. Please, Sam."

"The curse is wearing off?" Thomas exclaimed.

"Dean," Castiel snapped; though he knew it was in Dean's best interest to play along, Castiel hated being the reason for his submission.

"You don't have to kill him," Dean urged. "You're wrong. Cas has never been expendable. Not to me or S- I mean, not to us. I- I remember now." His sightless eyes narrowed, voice rising as though directing it towards Castiel with more intention as he went on, "There's _nothing_ we wouldn't do for Cas. Sam would- I mean, _you_ would never give up on him that easy."

"You heard him, Dean," Thomas pointed out softly, not putting the flask down. "He's beyond reason."

"Then let's run! You and me. Cas can't fly through holy fire, so… just leave him here. I'll go with you."

"Dean, don't," Castiel protested. The hunter ignored him, but Thomas shifted his gaze back and forth between Dean and Castiel.

"You'll come with me?" he directed towards Dean. "Without all the fuss from earlier? You'll let me help you?"

Dean was silent for a second, taking in a deep breath, before muttering, "I said… I'll go with you. Just don't kill him. Please… please, Sammy."

Castiel watched with a baleful glower as Thomas's eyes lit with obvious delight at the use of the nickname, not seeming to register the revulsion in Dean's voice that he couldn't fully hide. At least it was enough to make Thomas set the oil back down. In its place, he picked up a large kitchen knife that had been sitting on the counter. Castiel didn't miss the way Dean stiffened at the metallic sound of the blade being picked up.

"Alright, Dean," Thomas agreed. "You and me. The way we used to be. Hold still."

Dean tensed again, but Thomas merely slid the blade of the knife through the ropes that bound the hunter's hand to the chair. Then he tossed the weapon onto the table and pulled Dean's arm over his shoulders to help him up. When Dean released a strangled sound of pain and almost buckled, Castiel realized that his feet must have been injured; and why was he barefoot?

"That's it," Thomas encouraged. "Here we go."

"Sorry about this, Cas," Dean grumbled, still tight with pain. "But you gotta realize it's really him. I mean, you haven't seen any _other_ Sam running around, right?"

Castiel nearly retorted that Dean didn't have to pretend with him, that yes as a matter of fact he _had_ seen the other Sam, but stopped himself just in time. The Winchesters were masters of communicating more than the actual words they used. Castiel had little experience with this level of subtlety, as he and his kindred tended to be quite literal by nature.

But he'd learned much from his human friends, and understood now what Dean was actually asking. Choosing his own words carefully, Castiel replied,

"I'm not worried about him, I'm worried about _you_."

Dean's shoulders slumped with relief, assuring Castiel that his friend had understood the message, that he knew Sam was still alive and not in danger.

There wasn't time for any further communication, though, as Thomas started pulling Dean along with him towards the exit. Every step made Dean wince with pain, hobbling slowly along.

"Goodbye, Cas," Thomas said as they passed. "Don't try to follow us, or killing you will be the only choice I have."

"Don't hurt Dean," Castiel countered, fists clenching. "Or killing you will be the most merciful choice I make."

Thomas turned to give him one more look; Sam Winchester's features had no business being displayed on that man, and it burned Castiel even more while he watched Dean be pulled away from him once again. The angel cursed as he heard the front door close, face contorting in pain at last now that there was no reason to hide it any longer. The fire was much too close… even ramrod straight, Castiel felt the heat charring the edges of his wings, leaving him in agony. No matter how tightly he pulled them in, he couldn't protect his true form.

Moving as carefully as he could, Castiel managed to slide his hand into his coat pocket and remove the cell phone, wincing once as the movement of bringing the phone up to his ear jostled his arm too close over the open flames. With one-handed awkwardness, the angel managed to press the button he knew would dial Sam.

"Cas?" his friend immediately answered. "Did you find him? Is he alright? Where are you? Is Dean-"

"Sam," Castiel interrupted, schooling his voice to mask the pain he was in. "Listen carefully. They were here, but Thomas set a trap for me. He's leaving with Dean. Sam, it's up to you now. You have to hurry before they disappear again!"

"A trap? What happened?" Sam demanded. "I'm leaving right now. Are you okay?"

Feeling the flames once again bite at his true form, death a scant millimeter away on all sides, Castiel nevertheless replied, "I'm not hurt. He had a ring of holy oil on the floor." And like an idiot, Castiel had walked right into it. Fury with himself mounted, knowing that his over-confidence—no, his _arrogance_ —had led to him not only getting caught, but potentially losing Dean forever.

"Alright, well," Sam said, "I'll come get you out and we can go after-"

"Sam, no. You have to find Dean first."

There was a pause, before Sam argued, "Cas… I'm not gonna leave you in a ring of holy fire. That stuff kills you if you try to cross it, right? Don't be ridiculous."

"Thomas is leaving with Dean _now._ We won't have another way to track him, which means if you don't catch up, he's gone. You don't have time to come get me. Besides, the flames will burn down on their own eventually," Castiel pointed out.

"That could take hours! Days, even! I can't leave you like that."

Hearing the guilt, and understanding what a terrible choice this must be for Sam to be faced with, Castiel urged, "I _insist_ , Sam, you _must_ go after Dean. Before it's too late. I'll try to work myself out of this, and I'll join you as soon as I can. I have a chance without you. Dean doesn't. You can come back for me after you've found Dean if I haven't returned by then."

Another pause, then Sam sighed. "You're _sure_ you'll be alright?"

Lying wasn't one of Castiel's natural skills, but knowing Dean's life was at stake, the angel threw all his conviction into one word: "Yes."

"…okay."

"Good. Just hurry. Goodbye, Sam."

Castiel hung up, carefully maneuvering the phone back into his pocket and hissing in pain as a sharp tongue of fire licked at another feather. His grace immediately went out to soothe the area, expending another piece of energy to repair the damage being done by the flames, over and over in an attempt to keep his true form healed. Despite what he'd told Sam, Castiel knew fatigue would eventually overtake him from the effort, draining his power until he couldn't protect himself any longer.

He doubted very much that he would last until the oil burned away.

Closing his eyes, Castiel sent his thoughts through Angel Radio to his brother. _Balthazar… I'm afraid I've been careless. I- I need help._

It would be worth Balthazar's remarks about how he had told Castiel this would lead to trouble. But there was no response. Castiel frowned, not even getting a sense that his voice was reaching his brother. The angel's eyes flicked to the walls, sigils painted across the plaster to keep the place out of sight… and hearing.

Castiel sighed. Of course. Surely if it had been as easy as praying, Dean might have done so. Castiel couldn't communicate with his brethren while trapped in the warded house.

He was on his own.

And the flames burned higher.


	7. Chapter 7

Dean had no idea where they were going now. He heard his Baby's engine groaning as she was forced to carry him farther away; he wasn't sure if he was relieved or furious that she had been kidnapped along with him. Now that Dean's head wasn't so muddled from the drugs, he hoped that she would at least be recognizable enough that Sam could track them down.

The knowledge that Sam was still alive after all gave Dean the last bit of strength he needed to hold onto his sanity. His skin prickled at the proximity to his captor, nearly sizzling with dread in the face of this psycho's delusional mind. It was all the hunter could do to keep his breathing in check, not to give in to panic as he was taken away.

 _Cas, I guess you probably can't hear me_ , he desperately prayed. _But in case you can, I'm sorry. I didn't know what else to do._

Urging a crazed killer to leave his best friend trapped inside a ring of fire that could actually kill him was one of the worst things Dean had ever done, but if the alternative was Cas's death by barbecue? No thanks. Cas was a tough son of a gun; at least this way he had a chance.

"Too bad about Cas," Psycho Boy said from the driver's seat, as though he knew what Dean was dwelling on. "I'm sorry, Dean. I didn't want to do it, either. But you know he's capable of killing us both without blinking. It's the curse, not his fault. I would have taken him with us, found some way to help him, but I don't know how we could have held an angel long enough."

"Yeah, you sound real torn up," Dean muttered under his breath. He'd rather not engage in conversation, especially when they weren't yet far enough away that Psycho couldn't still turn back and kill Cas after all. Burned alive by that fire… Dean shuddered.

"He's my friend, too, you know," Psycho Boy pressed. "But right now, I have to worry about you. You seem to be getting better, but there's still a long way to go. And in your condition… we're just gonna have to take this slow."

The fact that he was speaking in Sam's voice made Dean shudder again as he tried to force back the icy desperation. This was just sick, the way it created the illusion that Dean's _brother_ was the one doing this to him.

"Where are we going?" Dean asked instead, trying to make it sound less like a demand.

"I don't know. It's getting on towards evening."

Was it? Dean had no sense of the time of day, no real idea how long it had been since this creep had kidnapped him. It wasn't like he could see the sun for cues.

"So I figure we gotta put some distance between us and Cas in case he breaks loose too soon, and find somewhere to hole up for the night. You still look exhausted. And kinda beat up, no offense."

"Wow, I wonder why."

There was a short pause, then Psycho murmured, "Don't worry, Dean. I'm gonna take care of you. I promise."

Goosebumps rose on his skin at the seemingly innocuous words that were—yet again—even worse to hear in Sammy's voice. Dean didn't respond, just shifted to turn away from his captor as much as possible while tugging furtively on the handcuffs he was stuck in again. Dean wished he could see where they were going. He wished his whole body didn't hurt. He wished he knew where Sam was, wished Cas could hear him urging him to hang in there, wished he would wake up and this would all be a nightmare.

But the road rolled on, the purring through the seat seeming like a reassurance from his Baby in their shared captivity. When Psycho Boy finally pulled to a stop, Dean couldn't say how many hours or miles had passed. He hadn't heard any cars passing by in some time and wondered how far off the beaten path they'd gotten to.

"Okay, I'll get us a room," Psycho Boy assured him with too much cheer. "Stay here."

"Like I can go anywhere?" Dean snapped back, gesturing to his eyes with cuffed hands. Not to mention, his feet hurt so badly that he'd make it all of two steps from the car before the crazy guy got back out.

"Jerk."

"B- Bite me." Dean managed to cut off the customary response just in time, furious that he'd almost let habit overpower his knowledge that this _was not Sam_. He ignored the sigh, stewing silently as the car door opened and then slammed.

The silence outside confirmed Dean's suspicions that they were definitely not on a major highway. Even if Sam knew which direction they'd taken, would he be able to find them out here? If only there was a way to signal his location.

Thinking quickly, Dean blindly groped in front of him until he found the glove compartment. He opened it and dug through the rubbish and cassette tapes until he identified the smooth, hard plastic of a cell phone. One of many burners that they normally kept as backup.

"Come on," Dean muttered to himself, flipping the older phone open and running his fingertips over the buttons until he found the one that he was pretty sure turned it on. He pushed it and held, gratified a second later when a little tone told him it was working. Dean paused to give it a chance to load up, again feeling the rounded buttons to figure out where the number 2 would be.

Huh. Never thought he'd be so grateful to have the old-fangled thing. He never would have been able to navigate a touch screen, blind. Pushing the button that would call Sam, Dean waited eagerly for the ringing on the other end.

It only rang once before the sound of crunching gravel made Dean flinch in surprise. Cursing softly, he snapped the phone closed again to end the call and swiftly thrust it back into the glovebox. A second later, the car door jerked open.

"Dean? What're you looking for?"

Continuing to shift through the glovebox, Dean retorted, "A pack of smokes. Got a light?"

"Hah hah. You don't smoke. You've got every other vice, but not that one. Were you looking for a gun?"

"Nope." Dean slammed the glovebox shut, heart still hammering at having been caught, but relieved the psycho didn't seem to have figured out what he was actually doing. He heard a sigh.

"Guess you're not completely back yet, huh? That's okay. We'll take it slow. Alright, come on, easy does it. Let me help you."

"You wanna help?" Dean snapped, trying unsuccessfully to pull away—damn it, he really was at a worse advantage when this creep had Sam's strength. "How about taking the cuffs off and giving me my shoes back?"

He choked out a grunt of pain as Psycho Boy got him on his feet, making them flare again from where the glass had cut him.

"No shoes until I can trust you're not gonna try running again," his kidnapper said. "We're gonna have to improvise as it is."

"Man, come on," Dean protested, limping slowly along where Psycho was directing him. The thought of being put into a cage again sent shivers up his spine. "Don't you think this looks a little suspicious?"

"Nah," Psycho replied. "There's no other cars in the parking lot. We're the only ones here except the guy in the office. I'll make sure he leaves you alone."

Yeah, probably by killing the poor bastard if he got too close. Which meant Dean couldn't call attention to himself to hopefully get help, damn it.

It felt like a thousand steps to get to the door of wherever they were, each one more agonizing than the last. Without his shoes, Dean's feet were still unprotected from the small stones and sharp bits of gravel in the parking lot.

"Almost there," Sam—or rather, Sam's voice—encouraged him, but the grip on his arm felt more like a threat than a support. "Let me grab the door."

They paused, giving Dean a moment to listen for a sign of _anything,_ but all he heard was the fumbling of a key going into a lock and turning, and then a door creaking open. When a soft _flick_ told him the light had been turned on, he could see no difference.

"Alright, this will work great," Psycho Boy exclaimed. "Here, let me help you over to the bed. Easy… easy does it."

If nothing else, sitting down was a relief, but this dissolved quickly into discomfort when Dean felt Sam's hands push him all the way down onto his back.

"Wait… No, I want to sit up."

The position made him way too vulnerable, especially since he couldn't see anything, but his heart gave an even worse lurch of panic when his kidnapper grabbed his bound hands and pulled his arms up over his head. Dean tried to pull back, but the metallic ratchet of a second set of handcuffs signaled that he'd already been secured to the headboard.

"What are you doing?" Dean demanded, testing his restraints to find no give. Despite himself, his breaths started coming quicker as the weight beside him disappeared.

"Dean, chill," his brother's voice insisted, but the rope that wound itself around Dean's ankle and pulled taut left him feeling anything but relaxed.

"Seriously? Where the hell do you think I'm gonna go?"

"Oh please, we both know you'd figure out some stupid move to try, and you'd end up getting hurt. So let's just play it safe, okay? Come on, humor me a little longer."

This time, Dean was expecting the grip on his remaining ankle, but could do nothing about it as Psycho Boy secured it as well to the opposite bedpost. The hunter growled in frustration, trying to find some wiggle room, but there wasn't much to be had. He fell still, taking deep breaths before seething, "You fudging touch me, I swear to _god_ -"

"Dean! We're _brothers_ ," his kidnapper laughed. "Don't make it weird. I just figured you'd be more comfortable sleeping in an actual bed."

"You know what would make me more comfortable?" Dean snapped back. "You untying me and letting me go! I mean it, right now! Let me up, you sicko freak!"

"Dean…"

And _damn it_ , Dean could not take that friggin' voice anymore! The exact level of exasperation and impatience that Sam would use, the comforting pat to his arm that only left him _more_ freaked out, because now all Dean could imagine was his actual brother. Yanking at his bonds with all his might, Dean felt something in him snap.

"Let me go!" he shouted. "You son of a bitch!"

"Dean. Hey…. Hey hey hey. It's me, it's Sam."

"You're _not_ Sam, stop calling yourself that!" Dean bellowed.

The sudden grip on his jaw took him unawares, squeezing so ruthlessly that Dean gasped. Something was pushed into his open mouth, fabric of some sort that muffled his yells. Sam's hand released him, but a second later Dean heard the distinctive _schick_ of duct tape peeling off a roll. The sticky substance latched over his face, roughly slapped across his mouth and cheeks to keep the rag in place.

"This is getting old, Dean," Sam's voice snapped with frosty warning. "I need you to start behaving. I _am_ your brother." The voice was now right in front of Dean's face, but filled with a level of insanity and threat that he couldn't associate with Sammy. "I've been patient, but pretty soon…"

The knife at his throat made Dean freeze, nowhere to retreat to when he was already flat on his back. The sharp edge traced over the thin line that had already been cut. Dean made a strangled sound that even he could barely hear, which was just as quickly bitten off when the blade pressed in more insistently.

"That's better," Sam's voice hissed. "Now for the last time, you're not going anywhere, because I'm not letting you go. Get some sleep, Dean. We've got a long drive tomorrow and I don't think you want to spend it tied up in the trunk, but if you don't knock it off, that's exactly where you'll be. Good night, big brother."

The weight looming over him disappeared, though the knife pressing against his throat lingered for a second before it, too, pulled away. Dean released a shaky breath. He tried to pull against the cuffs holding his arms over his head one last time, but slumped into the bed when this proved fruitless. Unable to see or speak or move more than an inch in any direction, Dean had little choice but to accept his helplessness and wait for his next chance to escape.

SPN SPN SPN

Sam took his eyes off the road only long enough to check the next number on the hastily scrawled list. With Cas's location as a starting point, and a rough idea that they would have taken off the opposite direction from Stanford, Sam had found a dozen or so motels that Thomas might decide to camp out in. The question was, would he even stop for the night, or just keep driving?

Though he'd hoped the APB he'd put out on the Impala using his phony FBI credentials would yield something, Sam was coming up with zilch. No hits on the wire, and nothing on the motels he was calling either.

Maybe Sam had been wrong. Maybe his quarry wasn't going to stop for the night. Maybe he was going in the wrong direction. Maybe he should have gone and gotten Cas first, after all.

Glancing at the clock on the dash, Sam noted that it was only half past nine. Given how far he'd been from Cas's starting point, and how much of a lead Thomas already had, he was probably lagging a good two or three hours behind, if he pushed the stolen Mustang to its max. Flying would be faster. He thought again about turning back for Cas, maybe continuing to put out feelers in the meantime…

Except by now he'd been driving all evening, far from the house up in the hills where Cas had found Dean. Sam wavered, then picked the phone up again. Instead of calling the next motel number on his list, he punched the speed dial for their angel friend.

But after the tenth ring, Sam's heart sank. Cas's ridiculously hopeless voicemail message was the only response he got, leaving the hunter to fear the worst.

"Cas, it's me," he said after the tone. "No luck yet. Why aren't you answering? Call me back, okay?"

Sam hung up, then slammed his hand against the steering wheel with a shaky curse. He licked dry lips. Dean was in trouble, Cas was in trouble, Sam was too far away from both, and he had no idea what condition either of them were in. How could this get any worse?

Helplessly, Sam continued tearing down the road, leaving message after message with various motel attendants, casting as wide a net as he could and hoping he wasn't too late.

It wasn't until after midnight when his phone finally rang. But when he looked at the caller ID, it was neither a motel, sheriff's office, _or_ Cas.

 _Bruce Wayne…_ Sam's heart leaped into his throat. The backup phone! Eagerly, the hunter took the call, already guiding the car to a halt on the shoulder.

"Dean?" he gasped. "Dean, is that you?"

There was no response, only a hasty click and then silence. Sam frowned, pulling the cell away from his ear to check if he was within service range. He was. So what had that been? Sam twisted his mouth with a thoughtful frown.

He'd forgotten they even had that old thing. Not that it mattered, as they never kept the burner phone turned on, preserving its battery as much as possible. Should he try calling back? But no, because if it had been Dean, and he'd hung up because Thomas had interrupted, Sam would show his cards too soon. Thomas still didn't know he was alive.

Wait a minute…

"Dean, you're a genius," Sam murmured, pulling up his internet browser as fast as he could. His heart thudded in his chest. A lead at last. The burner phone was old, but still new enough to have GPS… Dean had just notified Sam that there was now a tracking device in the Impala.

It was the work of a moment to pull up the phone's coordinates. Sam leaned back in the seat with a breathless laugh, running a hand through his hair. "Gotcha," he sighed. "Ok. Hold on, Dean."

Copying the coordinates into his nav app, Sam saw that Thomas must have abandoned the main thoroughfares to end up in the remoter area the Impala was now. He'd also taken a course tipping more south than Sam had, which put him nearly four hours away. But the ping was stationary, and the map informed him the address belonged to a motel, which meant he should have plenty of time to catch up.

Finally, this was almost over.

Once again, Sam tried dialing Cas's phone. The fact that he hadn't heard back from the angel was starting to scare him; surely if Cas had a means of escaping, he would have done so by now, and come to join him. But if he couldn't get out, then why wasn't he answering his phone either? It wasn't going to voicemail right away, so it couldn't be the battery…

But once again, there was no answer.

"Cas, me again," Sam said when voicemail picked up at last. "Just hold on. I got a lead on Dean, going to check it out right now. Just in case you get out of there before I can reach him, I'm heading to… um, hang on…" He pulled the phone down long enough to find the coordinates, then read them off. Message delivered, Sam hung up with his throat already starting to tighten. He could only pray that by going after Dean, he hadn't cost Cas his life.

Pulling back onto the road, Sam gunned the accelerator as hard as it would go, tearing off down the moonlit road in search of his brother.

And when he got there… god help Thomas, because Sam intended to show no mercy.


	8. Chapter 8

_A/N: Approaching the finish line, guys!_

 _Thanks to my guest reviewer, as well ^_^_

* * *

The fight was short-lived. Thomas hadn't stood a chance.

Sam wiped blood from his knuckles, chest heaving as he glowered down at the image of _himself_. Spellwork, he assumed. Talk about disturbing. Almost as disturbing as the image of his brother, a sight that Sam would never be able to burn out of his mind. And somehow, even the short, intense brawl between Sam and… himself… had failed to rouse Dean. Judging by the empty syringe on the nightstand, Sam was guessing sedative.

His double tried to snarl something at him, but the words were lost in the duct tape that Sam had slapped over Thomas's mouth—after he'd gotten the counter-curse for Dean's eyes, of course. Sam's only reply was a ruthless punch to his double's face. With his hands and feet taped, Thomas toppled over with a muffled grunt.

"I swear to god," Sam growled, jabbing his gun in Thomas's direction. "If this doesn't work, if you've done any permanent damage..."

Thomas tried to snap something again, but Sam ignored him in favor of hurrying over to his brother's side at last and stowing his gun. Now that the psychopath was neutralized, he could actually stop and register Dean's condition. And what he saw made him want to turn right back around and rip Thomas's head off his shoulders.

Dean was bound to the bed, tape over his mouth. One of his hands was wrapped with a red-stained rag, and his face was a motley collection of bruises—to say nothing of his eyes, with the surrounding skin still raised and angry. His feet were bare and dotted with dozens of cuts, some deeper than others. They looked a wreck. How had he even been able to walk?

Sam's fists clenched, nearly crumpling the paper he held with the spell scribbled on in pencil. He took a deep breath. There would be time to make Thomas pay, _after_ he took care of Dean.

Leaning over his brother, Sam gave his cheek a careful pat. "Dean," he called. "Dean, hey! Wake up… come on, man, wake up."

Dean stirred, head lolling, and Sam released the breath he hadn't even realized he was holding. Thank god.

"Come on, Dean," he called again, hand on his brother's shoulder now, shaking him with more urgency. "Wake up."

A low groan trickled through the gag as Dean's eyes finally blinked open. Sam could see the milky film that covered them, not to mention the way Dean didn't immediately focus on him or anything in particular.

"Hey," Sam whispered, heart breaking when Dean jolted at the sound of his voice. "Hey, it's okay. It's me, Dean. It's me!"

Dean jerked back from him as much as he could—which wasn't much—straining against the handcuffs and ropes that held him in place. This time, whatever he was saying sounded furious.

Sam swallowed hard, but reached for the tape across Dean's cheeks. "I've got you, Dean. You're safe now. I got the counter-spell out of him, so just let me get this off, and I'll fix your eyes. Hang on."

His only answer was a dismissive snort. Sam wasn't surprised, casting another look at his double. Why should Dean believe him? Working quickly, Sam peeled the tape away and gingerly extricated a rag from his brother's mouth. He winced as Dean released a raspy cough and licked dry lips.

"Let me go," he muttered.

"I will," Sam promised, smoothing out the paper. He cleared his throat, then read the few words on the page.

On the bed, Dean's face briefly glowed with a swift burst of red, and the hunter gasped. When the light dissipated, though, the milkiness coating his eyes had also cleared away. He immediately groaned and clenched his eyes shut, tilting his head away from the light.

"Oh! Right. Hang on," Sam gasped, hurrying to flick the bathroom light on so he could turn off the lamps at the bedside. After being blind for several days, they would be far too bright for Dean's eyes. Returning to his brother, Sam next snatched the keys he'd taken off of Thomas. "Alright, I'm getting you out of here."

Again, Dean flinched when Sam brushed against his wrist to unlock the cuffs; again, Sam wanted to bash Thomas's head in. But first he had to take care of his brother. Carefully, he removed the cuffs that locked Dean's arms up over his head, and then freed his wrists. Dean immediately tried to roll away from him only to remember that his feet were still tied.

"Wait a second," Sam urged him as he found his pocket knife to make quicker work of the ropes.

The effect the sound of his knife had on Dean left Sam almost nauseous, watching his fearless older brother blanch in the dim light. Dean was still obviously trying to let his eyes adjust, shielding them as he blinked rapidly and started to shoot suspicious gazes around the room. Sam saw the instant he registered the other version of him sitting bound against the wall.

Their eyes locked and Dean froze, but Thomas started wriggling and trying to shout again with more fervor.

"See?" Sam asked gently, slicing the ropes around his brother's ankles to fully free him at last. "It's _really_ me, Dean. It's over."

Dean looked back and forth between the two, as Sam moved slowly to return his knife to his pocket and hold his hands up in a gesture of peace. His brother's expression flooded with uncertainty, before he finally whispered,

"Sammy?"

A relieved smile broke across Sam's face and he nodded. "Yeah," he said. "It's me."

Dean moved off the bed, on the far side from Sam as though needing to keep the barrier between them. His eyes trailed between the two Sams again, but without the same relief Sam had been hoping for. "Yeah, no offense, but how can I be sure?" he growled. "Okay, um…" He snapped his fingers. "Becky, that crazy chick. What was her screen name?"

Sam stared at his brother, jaw working. "You… oh, come on." He sighed when Dean's gaze hardened. "Are you _really_ going to make me- Dean, don't make me say it out loud."

Dean crossed his arms with an air of impatience, and Sam saw there was nothing else for it. He heaved a sigh and pinched the bridge of his nose. God, the things he did for his brother.

"Sam…" His mouth moved a couple of times before he could finish, "Licker… 81."

Dean's tense shoulders relaxed a fraction, but his face creased in tighter pain as he shifted his weight. Sam's glare deepened. Right, the wounds on Dean's feet. Just one more thing that he was going to see to it that Thomas paid for. But first, he needed to get Dean safely away from that psychopath.

"Okay, bro, come on," he murmured, not moving closer but holding out a hand. "Let's get you out to the car, okay?"

He couldn't blame Dean for his reluctance, but the older hunter did finally limp his way around the bed. Sam waited patiently until Dean was close enough, and only then reached out to take his brother's arm and wrap it over his own shoulder so he could take most of the weight himself. On the floor behind them, Thomas started up his muffled shouting again, but Sam would come back and deal with him in a minute. Right now, his priority was Dean.

"Easy does it," he encouraged his brother, guiding him towards the door. "Just take it slow."

"He was stalking you at Stanford," Dean muttered. He winced with every step. "He's a witch."

"I know," Sam reassured him. "I know everything. It doesn't matter, it's over."

"I thought you were dead."

"But I'm not. Where are your shoes?"

Dean made a frustrated sound under his breath and shook his head. "I don't know. Bastard figured I wouldn't get far if I couldn't walk."

That wasn't good, since they had now made it through the motel door and were facing the gravel filled parking lot. The Impala was close, but Dean was going to have a bad time walking to it. Sam paused, then started, "I could-"

"I can walk!" Dean snapped.

"Okay, sorry," Sam quickly agreed, readjusting his grip to take as much weight off Dean's feet as he could and still let his brother walk independently.

"Got the keys?"

"Yeah, I got 'em. Let's just get you situated, and I'll see what I can do about wrapping your feet up until we can get somewhere safe. I'm gonna get you to a hospital, alright?"

Dean's breath hitched as he hobbled towards the Impala, and Sam could almost feel him gritting his teeth. Even still, the tough hunter merely shook his head. "No," he grumbled. "No hospital. We don't have time."

"Dean... you need that looked at. I can do the first aid, but if anything's gotten into those cuts, it might get infected. We don't have antibiotics-"

"There's no time," Dean repeated. "We gotta go get Cas."

Sam was silent as he opened the passenger door and helped his brother sink down onto the seat at last with a soft sigh of relief. He swallowed hard. "Dean..."

"What?"

Biting his lip, trying to keep it together, Sam hesitantly admitted, "There's a chance that... Dean, I- I don't think Cas made it."

"...What? No, he- I'm sure he's fine," Dean protested, though he reached out to clutch Sam's arm with a sense of urgency. His eyes filled with pleading that Sam could barely stand to see, given the circumstances. "He was fine when we left, he- did you see him?"

"No," Sam admitted. "But I can't reach him. I think... I don't know. If he's still there at the house, I'll get him out. But first things first, _you_ are going to a hospital, and while they're taking care of you, maybe I can go take care of Cas." He sighed, seeing the utter devastation on Dean's face. "I'm sorry, Dean."

Dean shook his head and turned away, body tense with evident grief. "Let's just go," he muttered thickly.

Sam nodded, then straightened up. "Wait here," he said. He pulled out his gun, cocking it with cold intent. "This won't take long."

Dean didn't even look at him, staring straight out the window, as Sam turned and headed back towards the motel. If Dean's condition wasn't so urgent, he would have made sure Thomas's death was a slow one, returning each and every mark on his brother to the man who had kidnapped and hurt him. As it was, Sam couldn't help but storm straight up to the psycho and give him a hard kick with his boot.

"You never should've come after us," he growled, deadly and cold as Thomas stared up at him with his own face set in icy defiance. "Nobody hurts my brother." He kicked Thomas again, rage growing by the second at every remembered bruise on Dean's face, the ligature marks on his wrists, the deep cuts in his feet, but most especially the haunted expression in his eyes.

But it all ended now. Sam raised his gun and pointed it straight between the psycho's eyes.

"Sammy."

Both Sam and the fake looked towards the doorway. Sam frowned with concern as he watched Dean limping painfully back in.

"Dean, you don't have to see this-"

"I want to kill him myself," Dean snapped, drawing even with Sam now even as his cold glare was fixed on the captive on the floor.

Sam bit his lip, wavering. He had to admit, he was dying to put a bullet in his stalker. But in the end, maybe it _was_ better for Dean to do this. It was the final closure that was needed. Nodding, Sam lowered his gun and held it butt first towards his brother. "All yours, bro."

Dean took the pistol and rubbed his arm with it, glower still fixated on the fake. Thomas watched him, eyes burning with intensity, and raised his chin.

"You know," Dean growled down at him, "Sammy's my little brother. I've known him his entire life. I know _everything_ about him. The things we've been through… So I don't care if you've stalked him for a while, know his favorite color, what he likes to eat. You think that can compare?"

Dean turned back to Sam. "You will still _never_ know that kid like I do."

Sam blinked. "What- Dean, _wait_!"

Dean pointed the gun at him and pulled the trigger.

SPN SPN SPN

The fight was short-lived. Sam hadn't stood a chance.

To be fair, when he arrived at the motel where the Impala was pinging from, he hadn't expected the psychopath would have a spell waiting to blast him the second he slipped through the door.

It was almost embarrassing, actually. By the time Sam had gathered his senses from the aftershocks that left his head ringing with disorientation, Thomas had already taken his gun and duct taped his hands and feet.

Which meant Team Free Will was 0 for 3 with this guy.

It didn't help that Thomas was now wearing a facsimile of Sam's body, unlike his original appearance back at the factory. There was a lot more muscle to contend with, so the punch to Sam's face that split his cheek was more than enough to leave him stunned.

"Well," Thomas said as he flicked on the bedside lamps. "I knew Dean was up to something. Guess I was right to put up the alarm system."

Sam spat out a glob of blood. "Most people just get a dog."

"I do love dogs," Thomas agreed as he checked the magazine of the gun he'd taken off of Sam and then slammed it back into place—Sam couldn't help but flinch. "But Dean would never agree to it. Can you imagine a dog riding around in his Baby?"

Sam scowled. "Like you have the first idea what Dean likes or doesn't like," he snapped. "You got that out of a book." His eyes drifted over to Dean now, motionless on the bed he seemed to be tied to. Sam's blood boiled. It wasn't a good sign that Dean—who slept on a hair trigger—was still completely unconscious. "What did you do to him?"

"Don't tell me you care," Thomas snorted, also glancing over at Dean. "From what I've seen, your obsession is with me, not him."

"What the hell are you talking about?"

"Oh please, I know all about you," Thomas snapped, waving the gun at Sam again. "Stanford. I don't know why you fixated on _me_ , of all people, but I know the only reason you give a damn about Dean is because you need him for your twisted fantasy that you're me."

Sam stared at the maniac, feeling his heart thudding with dread. His own mirrored face scowled back at him with a level of confidence and sincerity that said Thomas was believing every single word he spoke.

Setting the gun down long enough to snatch up the roll of duct tape, Thomas peeled off another strip and stormed forward to press it over Sam's mouth. He stepped back then, retrieving a scrap of paper from his pocket that had something scribbled on it. Thomas took a deep breath, grabbed his gun, then glowered at Sam.

"I don't know how far you thought you'd get with him," he snapped. "But it ends now."

Sam tried to shout, watching in horror as Thomas's fantasy adjusted itself again. No, no, _no_ , this had all become so turned around! The fist slammed into his face without warning, toppling Sam over onto his side with no way to catch himself.

"I swear to god," Thomas snarled. "If this doesn't work, if you've done any permanent damage…" He turned his back and headed towards Dean.

And Sam could only watch. He could only watch as his double woke Dean up, healed his eyes, played the savior. He could only watch as Dean met his frantic gaze and glowered back at him with disgust and hatred. He could only watch as the same psycho who had kidnapped Dean got him to walk right out the door with him.

And then he could only watch when, a moment later, the fake Sam came storming back in with gun already drawn. Thomas delivered a hard kick that left Sam winded, but he still managed to glare up at the maniac.

"You never should have come after us," Thomas hissed. "Nobody hurts my brother."

Another kick, and then the business end of a gun. Sam stared up at the man in defeat, the knowledge that he had failed his brother _and_ Cas more painful than the bullet would be.

"Sammy."

Sam glanced around the fake at the sound of his name, wincing for Dean as he watched his brother hobble painfully in.

"Dean, you don't have to see this-"

"I want to kill him myself."

Sam's heart clenched; no… that would be even worse. When Dean realized eventually what he had done… no, god no, he couldn't let this happen! He watched his brother, pleading silently for Dean to look past appearances, to _see_ him, to understand his look of warning. Although… was it just him, or was there a questioning look in Dean's gaze as well? Sam narrowed his eyes.

"All yours bro," Thomas finally decided, handing the gun off to Dean. The hunter accepted it, still watching Sam.

Instead of pointing the gun at him, though, Dean suddenly tapped his upper arm with it, and his eyes were definitely asking for a response. Sam was at a loss, until he glanced at Dean's arm. Right… that was where the handprint was. The mark Cas had left on him when raising him from Hell. Was he asking about Cas? After all, the last thing Dean would have known was that the angel was trapped in holy fire, so it _would_ be a top priority.

Sam wasn't sure what to think about Cas's fate, but he did know that the first thing they would do if they could get out of there was book it back to that house as fast as the Impala could fly and get their angel out. God willing, Sam would keep his _whole_ family alive. Face set, he lifted his chin in an affirmative gesture.

Dean's expression cleared immediately and he cocked the gun. "You know," he growled, "Sammy's my little brother. I've known him his entire life. I know _everything_ about him. The things we've been through… So I don't care if you've stalked him for a while, know his favorite color, what he likes to eat. You think that can compare?"

He turned back to Thomas. "You will still _never_ know that kid like I do."

"What- Dean, _wait_!"

Aiming for the psycho's foot, Dean pulled the trigger. Thomas bellowed, already lunging forward but tripping as blood spattered from the wound.

"Are you crazy?" he shouted, falling to sit on the bed. "Dean, it's _me_ -"

"That's for the Saw games, by the way," Dean snapped, before striking out to pistol whip Thomas across the face. "And for sticking me in a friggin' kennel!"

Wait… he did what? Sam watched, eyes wide, as Dean struck out again, but this time Thomas was ready for him. Reaching up, he caught Dean's arm and shouted a foreign word. The same dizzying blast that had hit Sam when he walked into the motel room exploded again, rippling through the room and knocking Sam into the wall he was slumped against. His ears rang, head spinning. There was shouting in the background, but he couldn't clear his vision.

Until the gunshot, and Dean's cry of pain.

"MMN!" Sam yelled into the tape, trying to wrestle himself upright as the room spun slowly back into focus to reveal Dean curled on the ground, cradling his stomach… dripping with blood.

Thomas stood over him, favoring his good foot, with a warped expression on his face—Sam's own face—and a maddened look in his eyes. "You know," he heaved. "A hunter's life is a dangerous one. There was always a chance I was going to have to learn to go on without you, Dean. Killed on a demon hunt… not the best way to go, but I'll avenge you on the demon who did it, and make sure you get a hunter's funeral."

He cocked the gun, and Sam tried to shout again.

But rather than the blast of a pistol, he heard… wings?

Sam stared as something heavy crashed into Thomas, knocking him away from Dean before the gun could go off. Something wearing a tan trench coat…

"Cas!" Dean gasped from the floor, trying to uncurl but falling still with a groan. "You- you're alive!"

But not in great shape, Sam realized in alarm. The angel was deathly pale, listing sideways as he raised a hand in Thomas's direction. Nothing happened, and it seemed to take Cas a moment to figure that out as he stared at his palm.

"Hmm," Thomas said with a snort. "All out of juice, huh, Cas? Looks like you'll be the first one I-"

The angel blade was in Cas's hand before Thomas could finish, flying end over end through the air to embed itself deep into the human's gut. "Stop talking," Cas growled.

Thomas gaped down at the blade impaling him, then back up at Cas in disbelief. "But… you're my friend…" The gun fell from his hand, landing with a clatter on the dirty floor. Slowly, Thomas crumpled down in a heap on top of it, still staring at Cas.

The angel trudged forward, looking barely able to stay upright. He reached down and yanked the blade back out. "You're not mine."

The sword whistled as it sliced down through the air and plunged into Thomas's heart. Sam saw the life leave his double's body and his eyes.

"Mmm," he tried to call Cas, but the angel's head lolled and then he stumbled sideways into the wall and slid down it. Sam took a deep breath and turned to his brother next. "Mnn!"

But Dean had closed his eyes, hands falling away from his stomach, coated in blood from the gunshot.

And Sam was bound so tightly he could barely move, and what was he supposed to do even if he got free? After everything, he couldn't lose them _now_ …

"Castiel, you are seriously impossible. Will you just _slow down_?" an accented voice complained as another set of wingbeats heralded yet another angel.

Sam stared, incredulity leaving him frozen, as Balthazar turned a slow circle around the room.

The angel whistled.

"Well, looks like I've missed quite the party."

They were safe, Sam realized, closing his eyes. Finally… finally it was going to be alright.


	9. Chapter 9

_A/N: I can't believe it, guys, but here we are at the finish line! ^_^ Thank you so much to everyone who favorited, followed, reviewed, or linked to their Tumblr etc so other people could find this. I've had a blast, hope you have, too! ^_^_

 _One last timeline hop to kick off the final chapter, because I know you guys want to see how Cas got out of the mess he was in. Thanks again, my friends! :) Enjoy the conclusion! :D_

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Castiel's internal clock told him it had been nearly twelve hours. Twelve hours of standing ramrod straight inside the circle of holy fire. Twelve hours of the flames licking greedily at the edges of his wings. Twelve hours of his grace desperately attempting to keep his true form from going up in a violent conflagration. The fire was damaging him faster than he could heal, though.

The angel wasn't sure how much longer he had. The passing of time went largely unnoticed as his full attention was fixed on staying alive. Somewhere in the background, Castiel thought his phone might have rang once or twice. He was too drained to be sure, too exhausted to check, and too clumsy in his movements now to risk trying to dig through his pockets again without brushing over the fire.

If only he hadn't been so arrogant as to believe he could easily defeat a human—though if not for his blind concern for Dean, perhaps Castiel _could_ have destroyed the false Sam without falling into this trap.

Balthazar would be delighted to point this out to him.

At the moment, Castiel would happily accept that lecture, if it meant his brother was there to help get him out of this.

He thought about praying again, but the angels couldn't hear him and his father was a lost cause. Castiel wavered dangerously, nearly out of strength to stand as his energy continued draining away in an effort to stay alive. His wings slumped, unseen. The feathers brushed the edge of the flames, searing his true form so that Castiel jolted back upright.

He would hold on as long as he could, though. Dean would need a way to get his sight back… if Sam couldn't compel his doppelganger to reverse the spell, Castiel might be the only option. So he had to hang on.

Even as the thought drifted through his mind, though, Castiel's vision turned to haze, and he vaguely registered his body giving out. His legs buckled and he pitched towards the flames.

"Ho!" a voice exclaimed somewhere in the foggy distance. The all-consuming pain Castiel had been expecting didn't race up to devour him as he instead hit an invisible force that steadied him away from the holy fire. Something holding his body in place…

Blearily, Castiel raised his head. He could barely make out the figure standing just on the other side of the flames, leaning in slightly to study him.

"You know," the voice went on, "this is one 'I told you so' that I would have been quite happy to never make. Even for you, this is an impressive level of idiocy."

"Balthazar," Castiel whispered hoarsely. His brother's face swam into clearer focus. Balthazar was holding one hand out towards him, using his power to keep Castiel upright so he wouldn't collapse. The seraph tried to smile, though he was too exhausted to hold it for long. "How did you…"

"Find you?" Balthazar retorted with a blithe snort. "I don't suppose you've noticed, but we're in the middle of a war against a dangerous archangel who'd love nothing more than to rip you into confetti to use at his own coronation. You honestly think I would let you just wander around down here without keeping tabs? Trust the Winchesters to watch your back? Which I see they've done a _fine_ job of."

Castiel shook his head. "Not their fault," he defended his friends. "If you knew where I was, why wait to step in?"

"I lost you for a while," Balthazar admitted. "Only periodically checking in, you know. Found it rather odd when I came to take a peek and you'd dropped off the radar. And since Raphael didn't call boasting about killing you, I finally popped on down to the last place I'd noted you were and started looking for places I couldn't see. Et voilá."

Another tired smile tugged at Castiel's cheeks in the face of his brother's loyalty. He watched as Balthazar kept his hand extended towards him while backing towards the kitchen sink. Balthazar knelt down to ruffle through the cabinet underneath before emerging with a fire extinguisher.

The chemicals made short work of the flames, and Castiel stumbled to one knee with a huff of exhaustion. He knelt, shoulders trembling somewhat from the exertion of his grace and the weight of his wings, while Balthazar hovered nearby.

"You're a fright," Balthazar said helpfully. "Looks like those blasted flames did a number on your grace. It's a wonder you held on as long as you did. And I don't think I can repair the damage, given it was holy oil…"

"Forget about me," Castiel growled, grabbing his phone from his pocket. As he'd suspected, missed calls from Sam. The first revealed nothing but Sam's frustration and zero leads, but the next one was an address. Castiel's eyes widened. "We have to go. Now!"

"Go- wait, not in your condition-"

Without waiting for Balthazar to finish, Castiel took off as fast as his aching body could go. Every flap of his wings made his grace scream with pain, not nearly healed enough to be flying and certainly not ready for a fight, but there was no way the angel could abandon his friends. As he approached the coordinates Sam had left, Castiel put on an extra burst of speed and erupted from the ether in time to tackle Thomas to the ground.

"Cas!" Dean cried out from close by. "You- you're alive!"

The seraph forced his hand up towards the artificial Sam, hoping to just smite him and be done with this. His grace was spent, though, first from the twelve hours of continuous agony and then the frantic flight. Nothing happened. Castiel stared at his palm, trying to process the issue, though his body was trying to shut down so he could rest.

"Hmm," he heard Thomas say. "All out of juice, huh, Cas?"

Castiel didn't hear the rest as rage grew in his heart. This monster had done enough damage to warrant several deaths; did he honestly believe that Castiel needed his grace in order to kill him? He still had a blade, and that required no "juice" whatsoever. Dropping his sword from his sleeve, Castiel hurled it towards his enemy. It pierced Thomas's stomach with a satisfying _thunk_.

"Stop talking," Castiel growled. He watched Thomas's shock, his disbelief, as the human collapsed.

"But… you're my friend."

Delusional to the very end. Trudging forward, Castiel snatched the blade back. He was too exhausted to deal with this nonsense. "You're not mine," he grumbled, before slicing back down one final time. Done.

Castiel slumped, then stumbled. The room spun in a dizzying twirl as blackness started to creep into the edges of his vision. If he could just rest, his grace would finally be allowed to recharge, but first he had to get Dean and Sam to safety…

He must have lost his balance, because Castiel suddenly realized he was on the floor, propped against the wall. His eyelids fluttered.

"Castiel, you are seriously impossible," Balthazar complained as he caught up again and flitted into the room. "Will you just slow down?"

Castiel tried to reassure him that everything would be fine now, but couldn't summon the energy. He heard Balthazar whistle.

"Looks like I've missed quite a party." The angel stalked forward and nudged the fake Sam's lifeless body with his foot. "I take it he's the one who stuck you in holy oil. Shame you killed him, Cas, I would have liked a crack at him myself."

"Dean," Castiel breathed, trying to raise a hand to point to where he saw the human was bleeding and nearly unconscious. It looked like Sam had been knocked around a bit as well, but not to the urgent degree as his brother.

"So it is," Balthazar agreed, sparing the human a look before returning to Castiel and squatting down beside him. "You've found your wayward humans. Good on you. Now let me see if I can restore any of your grace-"

"No, _Dean_ ," he insisted. "Balthazar… please."

Balthazar leveled a glare at him, huffing in displeasure.

Castiel shook his head and started to pull himself up. "Fine, I'll do it-"

"Alright!" Balthazar snapped, pushing him back down to the floor. "Alright, I'll patch up the bloody Winchester first. You just… stay."

Relieved, Castiel leaned back against the wall, taking in deep breaths as he watched his brother move over to Dean. A touch to the forehead returned the color to Dean's cheeks, erasing the blood spilling from his stomach as though he'd never been shot at all. The remainder of his injuries likewise disappeared. The hunter sat up with a sharp gasp and glanced down at himself.

"Thanks-"

"Don't mention it. You can get the other one, yeah?" Balthazar nodded towards Sam, still bound and gagged and watching the events unfold with wide eyes. Without waiting for an answer, the angel hurried back to Castiel. "Now as for you."

He cupped Castiel's face in both hands, warm and glowing with grace. It brought a modicum of relief from the dull throb, but Castiel's own grace had been drained dry, and only time and rest would restore him now. Balthazar dropped his hands with a disappointed frown.

"I'm sorry, Castiel, that's as much as I can do."

"Cas!"

The two Winchesters hurried to drop next to him, concern tight in both pairs of eyes.

"Cas, hey man, I'm sorry for leaving you there," Dean blurted out. "He was gonna _kill_ you."

"You made the right call," Castiel assured him weakly. "I am… not angry." He closed his eyes. What he was, was really, really tired. "I'm glad we made it in time."

"You _will_ heal, right?" Sam pressed.

Castiel nodded. "Yes."

"Meanwhile, you're a sitting duck," Balthazar grumbled, clutching Castiel's shoulder tightly. "If Raphael finds out you've been weakened…"

"Cas, he's right. You should stay with us until you're back on your feet," Dean suggested. "Seriously, man. We all need to just…" He took a shuddering breath and cast a look over his shoulder at the dead body, still mirroring his own brother's form. Dean swallowed. "We need to reset. I say we all head for Bobby's and rest up until he gets back. It's warded, and Raphael won't be looking for you on Earth."

Resting in the safety of Bobby's house did sound wonderful at the moment. And the fewer angels who knew his condition, the less likely it would somehow get back to the archangel. Castiel glanced up at Balthazar, trying to gauge his brother's reaction. "How do you feel about being in command a while longer?"

"You know, I think I've taken about as much abuse from you as I can tolerate," Balthazar retorted with a scowl that didn't fool Castiel. "It's all 'be in charge, Balthazar'. 'Heal the Winchester, Balthazar'. What do I bloody look like, your sidekick?"

Castiel smiled tiredly. "No. Just a good brother."

"Flattery will get you nowhere. Fine, hold tight."

Balthazar enveloped the small group with his enormous, hidden wings. As they took flight, Castiel closed his eyes at last.

SPN SPN SPN

By the time the ragtag group reached Bobby's house, Dean had been a prisoner for nearly three days and was too spent to even complain about his Baby being left behind until they could go back for her. Though Balthazar had healed the gunshot wound, as well as Dean's feet and other various injuries, there were other things that couldn't be so easily fixed.

For one thing, he was starving. The first thing he did once they hit the door was raid Bobby's kitchen and wolf down two cans of stew.

The next thing was a hot shower and then finally a chance to pass out, in desperate need of real sleep after the drugged state he'd been kept in.

Unfortunately, this only served to bring on the nightmares.

 _He wasn't blind anymore, fully able to see, to watch as Sam bore down on him with a syringe of glowing liquid and a crazed, toothy grin. Dean couldn't move._

 _"Sam," he pleaded. "Sammy, please. Please, don't do this."_

 _"It's okay, I'm here," his brother crooned._

 _Dean waited for Sam's eyes to flick black, but they didn't, because this wasn't a demon. It wasn't even a witch, a fake copy. It was just Sam. And that was so much worse._

 _"I'll take care of you, Dean. Such good care of you."_

 _"No! No, don't!"_

 _"I've got you, Dean."_

 _Sam plunged the needle into Dean's skin, and the hunter screamed._

"No!" Dean shot up in bed; he was surrounded by darkness. He couldn't see, he was blind again! With a strangled yell, Dean lashed out to the side in search of the bedside lamp. In his panic, he only succeeded in knocking it from the table with a crash, leaving him trapped in the oppressive blackness.

"Dean!"

Close by, a door crashed open on its hinges, creating a large patch of light from the direction of the hallway. A huge silhouette stood inside of it but hurried swiftly forward.

"Hey!" Sam said, grabbing Dean's shoulder. "Hey, hey! You're okay. It's alright, I've got you, Dean."

Dean's blood ran cold at the all too familiar words. Jerking away, he scrambled to the other side of the bed, snatching up the gun from under his pillow as he went. The pistol was aimed at Sam before he even fully registered he'd cocked it.

"Whoa!" Sam yelled, backing away with his hands held out. "Dean, _stop_!"

"Cas!" Dean bellowed without lowering the gun.

"He's fine! He's here-"

"Stay away from me! _Cas!_ "

The floorboards creaked outside the room as Cas hurried inside. The angel paused, taking in the scene with a bemused expression.

"Cas, do you see him?" Dean demanded. His voice cracked but he couldn't even be embarrassed. "Do you _see him_?"

Again, Cas looked between him and Sam, then his expression cleared with evident understanding. He raised a hand and gestured, pulling aside the blackout curtains with his power to allow sunlight to stream into the bedroom. "Dean," the angel said. "Put your gun down. It truly is Sam. I can see him."

Oh. Oh, shit. Dean released the cocking mechanism and hurriedly set the pistol back on the bed. "Um… sorry, Sammy."

With the daylight chasing away the remembered horrors of blindness and the remnants of a nightmare, Dean could clearly see that of course this was his brother. His slightly peeved but very much alive brother.

"Yeah," Sam gritted out. "It's fine."

Dean looked away. "Just… that's what he kept saying, too. In- in your voice."

This time, Sam didn't say anything, but when Dean glanced back up at him, his brother's face had smoothed from annoyance to empathy.

"Sorry," Sam murmured. "I should've realized. Are you… okay?"

Dean wanted to reassure him that he was fine, everything was cool. But damn it, that nightmare, that overwhelming panic when he awoke to darkness, the chill he got just from Sam's voice… for crying out loud, he'd just pointed a loaded gun at his own brother. Pretty far from "fine".

"Honestly, no," he admitted. "Truth is, he, um… Sammy, he messed me up pretty bad."

"Are you still injured?" Cas asked. He stepped forward. "I believe I've recovered enough to help a little."

"No." Dean quickly waved him off. "No, Cas, you gotta focus on getting yourself back up to speed. Damn that bastard… It was _you_ , Sam. I know it wasn't, but it was. He _killed_ you, and I…" He didn't even know what to say, how to explain. The helplessness. The depth of that psycho's insanity. Every sickening touch and word.

After a second of silence, Sam sighed and sat down on the edge of the bed. "Dean, this one hit home for all of us. It's okay to be a little screwed up by it. I mean, you should have seen the freak show we had to get rid of. All his notes, those pictures…" He shuddered. "And all that time, with all Dad's training and everything, I still had no idea. If I'd caught on to him sooner…"

"You can't blame yourself for that," Cas insisted only a second before Dean could say the words himself. "He was very careful. Very clever."

"Yeah, but _we're_ supposed to be careful and clever, too," Sam pointed out. "Look, all I'm saying is, this one almost got us. All of us. But it didn't. We're all alive… somehow."

Dean snorted. "Yeah, by the skin of our teeth." He paused. "Still might not hurt to come up with some new codes, just in case. You too, Cas. What if one of Raphael's goons tries to trick us by pretending to be you? We need a way to know if you're in trouble."

Sam frowned. "That's not a bad idea. We'll think of ways to identify ourselves, plus a new distress signal, and then don't share it with anyone. Not even Balthazar. Not even Bobby. Just the three of us."

"Team Free Will?" Cas asked, raising a wry eyebrow with a hint of a smile on his still tired face.

"Damn straight, Team Free Will," Dean agreed. He pasted on a smirk of his own, burying the nightmares a little deeper as though that would ever make them go away. Sam was right; this one had hit too close to home, and all three of them would have some things to sort out.

But they were alive, and that was something.

And they were united, and that was everything.


End file.
